


Gone Feral

by ChipOfftheOldSoul



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Divergent after Order of the Phoenix, Department of Mysteries, Everyone Needs A Hug, Kinda, Pre-War, Reckless Harry, Sirius Black Lives, Sirius gets a trial, Werewolf Transformations, Werewolves, mild gore warning for that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-03-13 10:05:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13568319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChipOfftheOldSoul/pseuds/ChipOfftheOldSoul
Summary: When Harry thought Voldemort was torturing Sirius in the Department of Mysteries, he didn't wait for Hermione's plan in the Forbidden Forest to play out. He ran for it, leaving for the Ministry without his friends to back him up. Unfortunately, one fifteen-year-old against thirteen adult Death Eaters isn't much of a challenge, and by the time the Order arrives, the Death Eaters are gone, Harry with them.Somewhere in between hunting werewolves and running errands for Dumbledore, Sirius and Remus are going to find him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Has anyone else ever written a fic out of spite? This is my spite fic. Back in my ff.net days, I read a summary that had potential, but the fic itself left me so upset that I started trying to figure out how to fix it, which birthed this monstrosity. I have been sitting on this story since shortly before Nanowrimo 2016 so...yeah. It's a labor of love. Usually. Mostly. At least 50% of the time. Anyways.
> 
> Thank you to my extremely patient betas, rolypolythepolarbear and Amalthea_Oberon.
> 
> Rated T for Sirius's potty mouth.

“My lord?”

“Yes, Lucius? Did you bring me my prophecy?”

“N-no, my lord. The boy destroyed it, but—”

“Lucius, I am most disappointed.”

“My lord, please, the prophecy is gone, but the boy—”

“What about him?”

“My lord, I have brought you Harry Potter.”

 

* * *

 

 It was late and Sirius was dozing, lulled by the hand stroking through his long, finally silky hair. The thigh that he pillowed his head on was boney and too thin, but so familiar that it was comforting. The fire was warm, but low enough that it only cast faded shadows around the room. Sirius kept his eyes shut in the darkness, only occasionally looking to check on Remus above him. Remus was staring into the fire still, face blank in the way that Sirius knew meant he was worrying, running worst case scenarios through his head, tallying up debts and allies. Sirius wanted to reach out and comfort him, maybe pat his hand or cheek, but he was so close to sleep that he couldn’t make himself move, half-sure that Remus was an Azkaban-induced dream.

Until the night abruptly turned to the nightmares he was accustomed to. The front door slammed open and his decrepit mother began screaming her usual obscenities. Footsteps tumbled down the hallway toward them. Both Sirius and Remus sat up straight, wands out and aimed at the door. Dora’s appearance, always exactly under her peculiar control, had never looked more frayed than when she lunged into the drawing room and announced, “Harry’s gone to the Department of Mysteries! He thinks he’s rescuing you, but no one has heard from him for hours and—” Sirius and Remus had already jumped up from the floor. In the dimly lit room, Sirius saw Dora’s chest pulling in quick gasps of breath, her shoulders high and tensed and her hair’s usual bubblegum pink so faded now that it was almost brown. “Sirius, he went alone.”

Before Remus’ strangled cursing had paused to fuel with a new breath of air, Sirius dashed up the stairs and grabbed the cloak he hadn’t needed since the last time he had been too depressed or drunk to bother to light the fire sometime during the winter, and a pair of dusty shoes which he hadn’t worn in far longer. When he returned to the living room where he had left them, Remus was pacing and Dora stood rigid, both full of restless energy. They didn’t bother with the floo network—Grimmauld Place had never been compatible with the main network—and instead dashed out into the night, apparating the second they had escaped the anti-apparition wards Dumbledore had put up shortly before going on the run. Sirius didn’t have a moment to appreciate how fresh the smoggy city air felt when it wasn’t filtered through wards and windows.

Mad-Eye and Kingsley were waiting for them in the Ministry atrium impatiently. “About damn time,” Moody growled, marching toward the lifts. Kingsley waited for Remus and Sirius to catch up, but Dora was already chasing after her mentor.

“We found this by the elevator,” Kingsley said, holding up a familiar Firebolt as they walked quickly. “Hermione said Harry summoned it as soon as he had stunned her and Dolores Umbridge and—”

“Harry stunned Hermione?” Remus asked, shocked. Silently, Sirius echoed his sentiments. Harry was someone who would do anything for his friends, had in fact broken numberless rules and sacrificed his safety dozens of times. To turn on them, he truly had to be on edge. Kingsley nodded gravely.

“The rest of their friends found Hermione and Dolores a few minutes later, but Harry was already long gone,” he explained. They reached the lift Dora was impatiently holding for them and all clambered in. The lift speaker’s voice was pleasant, soothing, and made Sirius’ hair stand on end. They needed speed and a sense of urgency, not a friendly tone and even measured stops at each floor.

“Why does Harry thing he’s rescuing me?” Sirius demanded. _And why does he think that’s his responsibility?_

“Harry passed out midway through his last exam,” Dora explained, tapping her wand against her leg and watching the floor numbers count down too slowly. “Hermione said he had a vision of you being tortured by You-Know-Who in the Department of Mysteries. He was trying to contact you through Dolores’ floo, but he caught Kreacher instead. Kreacher implied that you were no longer at Grimmauld Place and that you wouldn’t be coming back. Harry and his friends were ready to dash off to come here, but they were caught by Dolores at the last minute.” His mouth twisted grimly. “She was convinced he had been trying to contact Albus. She was going to Crucio Harry to make him admit it.” Sirius snarled under his breath. At his side, he heard Remus’ breath hitch. “Hermione was the one who saved his arse, but before she could get rid of Dolores in the Forbidden Forest, Harry snapped. He attacked Dolores, took her wand, stunned both her and Hermione, then summoned his own wand and his broomstick, and flew off a few minutes before the rest of their friends ran out of the castle.”

“Dora said that was hours ago!” Sirius’ voice ricocheted around the lift and, as if in response, the grate finally slid open with a charming ring. “Why are we only hearing about this now?” He almost tripped in his rush to get to Harry and only Remus’ hand on his elbow steadied him before he was hurrying down the hall again, the others on his heels.

“Snape is the only Order member left at Hogwarts now.” Dora snarled Snape’s name, and Sirius hissed in response. “His owl only reached us half an hour ago.”

“His owl?” Sirius roared.

“He said the fires weren’t safe anymore and he couldn’t risk his message being compromised.”

“Like the owls have been any safer. We have a system of communication for exactly this reason!”

Any response he might have gotten was cut off when he shoved open the unlabeled door that every Order member knew and that every Order member except him had spent the past year guarding. It was obvious, however, that even the aurors had no concrete idea of what lay past the infamous door. They all stared around in horror. “I hope someone knows their way around here,” Kingsley said, eyes skimming over the dozen identical doors that lined the circular room.

“Harry,” Sirius said firmly, “we just need to find Harry. The rest of the doors don’t matter.”

“Which door would he have taken then?” Dora asked, but Sirius shook his head and turned to Remus. He loved his godson, more than his own self, but Sirius did not know him even a fraction as much as he should. Over the past two years—hell, over the last fifteen years—he had spent only a handful of weeks with Harry. He barely knew the boy’s favorite food. How the hell would he know which of the indistinguishable doors Harry would choose?

“Remus?” he begged instead. Remus had taught Harry for a full school year; surely, he knew the boy’s strategy, had even imparted some of his own, perhaps. Remus opened his mouth the speak, not looking hopeful, but before he could make a sound, the door they had entered through slammed shut with a force that should have resulted in a resounding slam, but sounded like nothing more than a puff of smoke. They waited is silence for a long moment. Sirius couldn’t hear anyone breathing. Without the light from the doorway, the circular room was lit by only blue-flamed candles mounted between each door. They provided nearly no illumination past the doors themselves. The black floor and ceiling gave the illusion that the group stood in the middle of an abyss. Sirius reached for his friend’s hand blindly, finding it and twisting their fingers together while raising their wands high with their other hands.

“What now?” Dora whispered. It was the room that answered her. Silently, the doors and candles slid sideways, circling the five Order members too quickly to keep track of and Sirius swore. The room was just taunting him now. The movements of the candles formed a continuous band around the five of them and Sirius felt his chest constrict with claustrophobia. Remus tugged him closer. Sirius was still attempting to regulate his breathing when the doors stopped and became innocuously still once again. 

“Do either of you have any idea where that idiot boy would’ve gone?” Mad-Eye demanded and Sirius was forced to shake his head, not having enough air yet to speak properly.

“No,” Remus agreed. “Do you have a plan?”

“Start at the beginning,” Mad-Eye said. “Potter’s obviously letting his vision guide him. Did Granger tell you anything else about it?” he asked Kingsley.

“No, just about Sirius. She said Harry wouldn’t explain any more than that. She did think though that You-Know-Who was the one to plant the vision in his mind.”

“No kidding,” Remus said. His sarcasm always did have a bad habit of coming out at the most stressful of times.

“That was why Albus had him learning Occlumency in the first place,” Sirius agreed, “but Snivellus—”

“We don’t have time for your petty grudges,” Mad-Eye interrupted and though Sirius knew his grudges were anything but petty—at least, not completely petty—he shut up. “If it’s Voldemort guiding him, you know damn well where he’s sent the boy.”

“Through the Time Room to the Hall of Prophecy,” Dora recited, breathless. Albus obviously knew a good deal about what went on in the Department of Mysteries, but the only thing he ever told the Order about it was that the Time Room led to the Hall of Prophecy and they must never, ever let anyone into the Hall of Prophecy. At all costs, stop them in the Time Room.

“Let’s go then,” Mad-Eye said.

It took five tries before they opened the door leading to the hall that glowed with the reflections of a thousand timepieces. Sirius didn’t care about the other four doors—Voldemort hadn’t led Harry through them—but the others were intrigued. Dora leaned into the room that spilled light, tinkling music which they could feel disturb the air around them. Kingsley appeared both nauseated and intrigued by the room that held an aquarium full of swimming brains. Mad-Eye tried to touch the stars that hung motionless around the room full of planets, moons, comets, and the sun.

Remus’ whole body bowed forwards when the open door revealed a large, rectangular room with a sunken center. An arch stood in the exact middle of the room, a frayed veil hanging from it and stirred by a nonexistent wind. Remus moaned when Sirius pulled his friend back and slammed the door with another unsatisfying _puft_.

“No,” he reminded Remus. His friend’s eyes were still glued to the door. Kingsley marked the door quickly before it spun away again, like the doors had each time one closed. The deep gouge in the wood would indicate which doors they had already tried. “Harry, please, Moony,” he begged, “We need to find Harry.” Remus blinked several times before his eyes focused on Sirius again.

“Yes, yes, of course. Let’s go.” The next room took Sirius’ breath away. This was the room they were looking for. He knew it before they had even taken a step inside.

The walls glittered. Light reflected off time pieces of every variety, quality, and size. Clocks stood tall against walls and sat short and squat on tables. A rack of time turners hung, and the light caught every grain of sand and sprayed reflections across the wall. What caught their attention, though, was the source of the light. A tall bell jar stood in the center of the room. Inside, a tiny hummingbird was eternally trapped in the cycle of birth, aging, death, and birth again. They all stood stunned, watching her go all the way through three cycles before Kingsley’s ragged breath caught their attention again. “We need to go.”

Sirius cursed himself for becoming distracted. Harry needed him now, they didn’t have time to waste. He dragged himself forward, past the glittering clocks, past the time turners, past the forever damned hummingbird, to the door at the end of the long room, yanking it over and waiting until each of the others had passed him before he went in and closed the door.

The high-ceilinged room was unlit apart from more of the blue-flamed candles and the prophecy orbs that were neatly organized on thousands of shelves divided into hundreds of rows. Apart from the five of them, the room was completely still and showed no signs of life. The silence grated on Sirius’ ears.

“This way,” Mad-Eye growled, and though he kept his voice low, it sounded to Sirius like a shout in a mausoleum. “Row ninety-seven is this way.” The others followed the veteran, copying his slow, sure steps. Mad-Eye and Kingsley kept their wands pointed straight ahead while Remus and Sirius aimed their wands down each row they passed and Dora covered them from behind. They were prepared for any threat that might jump at them, but none did. Every single row they passed looked serene, as if they had all been forgotten long ago.

Row ninety-seven was anything but serene. Shards of smashed prophecies carpeted the ground, nearly every single orb knocked from their shelves. Footprints disturbed the splintered glass, telling a story that brought Sirius to his knees, uncaring of the shards beneath him.

On the far end of the aisle, there was a mess of footprints in the glass, too many to tell how many people had made them. On the other end however, ending just inches from where Sirius knelt, was a trail of a lone set of prints, made from a pair of muggle sneakers with a distinct pattern made from the rubber soles.  They were spaced far apart and faced the Order members as if their owner had been running from the others. But abruptly, the path ended, the prints marred where their owner and slid backwards across the perfectly even floor. Where his body had flown back and fallen, there was a gross facsimile of a snow angel. The body was dragged backwards to the other end of the aisle. Halfway between where the teen’s footsteps ended and the Death Eaters’ footprints gathered, the dragging body had begun to thrash about, a frenzied mess disrupting the glass powder. Whether it was caused by defiance or pain, Sirius could not tell. He was too busy noticing how their wandlight caught the drops of blood that coated the edges of broken prophecies.

Remus was the first to move. He stepped carefully around Sirius, glass crunching and biting under his shoes. He stopped at the place where Harry’s body had started the convulsing in his struggles. He crouched and picking something up reverently then returned to Sirius’ side. The object Remus offered Sirius confirmed the heart-rending thoughts Sirius had been trying to find a way around. Harry’s wand rolled innocently across Remus’ palm as he tipped it into Sirius’ outstretched hand. The wand was completely unbroken, without even a scratch across the surface of the polished wood to show the skirmish it had just survived. Sirius held it tighter than he held his own wand.

“I’m sorry,” Kingsley broke the long silence with a heavy hand on Sirius’ shoulder. “We need to go back now, contact the rest of the Order, see if Albus has received our messages.”

Mad-Eye agreed with his colleague. “If we want any chance of finding Potter again, we need to move now, Black.”

Sirius heard their words as if they had been said on the other side of a crowded room. Too many thoughts roared inside his own mind, clamoring for freedom, clawing at the back of his skull, at his eardrums, at the very real possibility that he might never see his godson, his Bambi, ever again.

“C’mon, Sirius,” Dora’s voice reached him as all the destruction in his mind coalesced into one unified front of disaster. “We need to find Dumbledore.” Her voice, rough with unshed tears, was still so full of trust in the old man.

“Fuck that.” The others stopped their quiet strategizing to stare at Sirius. He knew it wasn’t because he had sworn or because he was disrespecting their esteemed leader; they all knew well enough that he had done little else over the last year. No, they stared at Sirius with concern because his tone was one he had only used once before, on a day he half remembered. Only one of them had been there to hear him that day.

“No!” Mad-Eye barked. Alastor Moody had been there that day, Sirius remembered. Not the one to arrest him, simply an auror called in for damage control in all the destruction and mayhem. Scared muggles, scared wizards. He had looked at Sirius that day with shock and suspicion from across a torn street. “We do not have time for your family madness to make an appearance now, Black! Pull yourself together.”

“There’s no point.” Sirius smirked. Some small part of his mind yelled at him to shut up and man up because there was still work to be done. The little voice sounded suspiciously like Lily. But as he had for most of his teenage years, he ignored her nagging. “Harry’s gone,” he wheezed instead, because that explained everything, just as it had the first time this part of him had taken over. “He’s gone.” As always, it was Remus who had to pull him back out of his own mind. Maybe that was why he hadn’t escaped Azkaban sooner?

“Sirius, listen to me,” he demanded. He put his hands on either side of Sirius’ face, more like a cage than a caress, and his voice was hard and unyielding, the force of it reminding Sirius of what it felt like to be bowled over by Moony on the full moon. “Harry isn’t gone, not like James and Lily. He’s missing, not gone and we will find him, but you have to help us, Sirius.”

“Can’t,” Sirius reminded his oldest friend. “Albus said I can’t be found.”

“Since when have you ever let that old bastard tell you what to do? You’re here, aren’t you?” Sirius’ eyes stopped roving the mostly empty shelves on either side of them and finally focused on Remus. Slowly, he raised his hands to Remus’ wrists, feeling the lean muscles there. He didn’t have any strength of his own right now, but he knew Remus would let Sirius borrow his. He always had before.

“Yeah. Yeah, I am. We are.”

“Exactly. Now let’s go before we get caught and we can put together a plan.”

But Sirius had no time for not getting caught. During the long, long months trapped in his family home, his clever mind had been bottled up, left without distractions to wander through too many dark scenarios and possibilities, and invent contingency plans. Though he had never imagined this exact scenario, never allowed himself to, one of his favorite plans would fit the situation well. His fingers were very nearly sparking with anticipation.

Remus had known him for long enough to recognize the electric look in Sirius’ eye. “No,” he said. “No, Sirius, this is not the time for a prank.”

“I think,” Sirius grinned, manic, “this is exactly the time for a prank.”

Before Mad-Eye or Kingsley could stop him, as they clearly intended to do, Sirius whipped around, wand up and wordlessly cast the strongest blast of pure energy he could, straight down the horror etched aisle. The blast of magic sent shock waves through the air, sending even Sirius sliding back a few inches, and the shelves on either side of the aisle stood no chance. They tipped away from one another, splitting like the muggle myth of a prophet parting the sea. How ironic. As shelves collided and fell, one after another, prophecies fell as well, sounding something like a choir of warbling shrieks. The warnings of seers and diviners from centuries past and present clashed with Sirius’ laughter. Together, they even drowned out Mad-Eye’s threats.

A hand gripped Sirius’ elbow and he let Remus drag him away, the two of them running in the wake of destruction towards the door that would take them back the way they had come. He could hear the others running after them as the crashing shelves settled. Mad-Eye apparently didn’t need to be able to breathe regularly to carry a steady stream of ugly insults. And through it all, Sirius could feel his own manic laughter wracking through his chest.

He dodged through the door, back into the Time Room, flew past the timepieces and tumbled back into that infuriating circular room. Before he had time to even attempt to deduce which door would lead back to the corridor, Mad-Eye had caught up with him and was shaking him by the collar. How did a limping man with a stump leg run so fast?

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Black? The alarms you undoubtedly just set off will have every Unspeakable here faster than you can wag your furry tail! I have a mind to throw you in Azkaban myself!” Dora and Kingsley both attempted to calm Mad-Eye while simultaneously echoing his sentiments. Sirius tuned them all out.

Remus’ soft voice, however, was clear. “Pads, what’s the plan?”

Sirius barked. He hadn’t heard that question since Hogwarts. There were too many memories buried in those words to concentrate on them though—great escapes and stolen firewhiskey and midnight runs and fumbled kisses and so, so much laughter—so he shoved them away and lolled his head towards his best friend instead.

“Ah, Moony, you know me so well.”

“Too well, I think sometimes,” Remus agreed. “What are you up to?”

“Moony-dear, I think I’m going to get myself arrested tonight.” While he very much expected to be punched for his words, Dora was the last person he expected to deliver the deserved blow.

“Dammit, Sirius!” she shouted, uncurling her soon-to-be bruised hand. Ted must have taught her to throw a punch, because physical violence had never been Andi’s style. “We just got you back! I’m not going to watch you get yourself thrown back in Azkaban.”

“Well that’s exactly where I’ll put him if he doesn’t get his arse back to Grimmauld Place this minute!” Mad-Eye dragged him directly across the room and threw open the door leading back into the familiar and boring Ministry hallway, tossing him out the door and letting him sprawl on the stone floor. Sirius sat up and carefully straightened his clothes.

“You’re being unreasonable, Mad-Eye,” he said.

“I am not the one being bloody unreasonable!”

“Alastor, you’re going to attract attention,” Remus said. Mad-Eye paused to digest this for only a moment before nodding decisively and grabbing Sirius’ collar in a white-knuckled fist, dragging the protesting man all the way to the lifts.

“I bloody well hope I attract attention,” Mad-Eye snarled. “If this idiot is going to purposely get himself arrested, then I’m going to get the credit for catching him.” Crab-crawling after Moody who was still dragging him along, Sirius saw Remus share a longsuffering look with Kingsley. Moody only released Sirius when the lift came, and he pushed Sirius forward while smashing the button for the atrium.

The silence in the lift was awkward and Sirius knew he wasn’t helping matters by bouncing, but he didn’t stop either, even when an irritated Kingsley settled a heavy hand on his shoulder. Sirius had a plan and he clung to this fact. It wasn’t a plan he would enjoy and it wasn’t a plan that would go easily, but it was a plan that he knew offered him the highest probability of finding Harry. He would prey on the publicity this would cultivate, he would use the wizarding world and their damned need for their boy-hero. They would pay attention. And they would give him whatever he needed.

They had used his godson for years. They had left Sirius in Azkaban for years. They deserved whatever he dealt them.

The atrium was already in chaos when the lift grill slid open. Aurors and Unspeakables stood in a mass by the large fountain, squabbling over jurisdiction and classified information and every other mundane thing they could think of. Even the ring of the lift’s arrival didn’t catch their attention. Merlin, no wonder they hadn’t been able to catch him when he was on the run. While no one was paying attention to the five of them, Sirius motioned for Remus to leave quickly. As a civilian, legally, he had no right to be there and would likely be held as an accomplice if he was seen. Rather than run for the exit, Remus ducked down a dark hallway no one here would have any reason to look down. He would be able to sneak out when everyone had gone.

It was a young Unspeakable that noticed them first. She looked barely out of Hogwarts and Sirius hoped they valued her keen eye because, apparently, it was the only one they had. “Look!” she said, tugging on someone’s sleeve. The auror turned to bat her away until he saw who she was pointing at.

“Sirius Black!” Sirius forced himself not to grin at the way his name spread through the crowd, the argument between aurors and Unspeakables falling silent instantly. It was that moment that the Minister of Magic dragged himself away from his bodyguards.

“Someone call Azkaban!” he demanded. “Get one of the guards here. Sirius Black, you have been charged with thirteen counts of murder, two counts of conspiracy to murder, affiliation with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and escaping Azkaban in direct violation of your original sentence. The punishment for this is this is the Dementor’s Kiss.” Sirius ignored the ice that slid down his spine at the thought. “You will be held here until the Kiss is administered. Aurors, take him.”

Though both Mad-Eye and Kingsley were now holding Sirius by his elbows, keeping his hands clasped behind his back, all the aurors in the atrium converged, and formed a circle around the five of them. A few Unspeakables joined the circle, but most rushed past them all to the lifts, calling to one another to check the breach of security. Dora went after them, though they tried to wave her off. Every person bordering the circle pointed their wand at Sirius’ heart.

Sirius was almost proud at the amount of fear he could inspire, but irritation overrode every other feeling.

“Actually,” he said, “I’d like my trial first.”

“Your what?” Fudge looked at Sirius as if he were a toxic slug that had asked to borrow a quill.

“Trial. I never had one the first time ‘round, see, so I was never actually found guilty of those crimes, nor sentenced to Azkaban. You lot just shuffled me away.” At least four wands that Sirius could see lowered as their owners’ jaws hung open in shock. The disbelieving quiet that had spread when they saw him finally shattered into accusations.

“You can’t honestly believe—”

“You laughed—”

“Thirteen people—”

“How dare you?”

“I was there that day, Black,” Fudge sneered. “You all but confessed. There was no doubt of your guilt!” Sirius felt his face harden.

“Minister, he’s telling the truth,” Kingsley rumbled. “Sirius Black was never convicted of the murders of Pettigrew, the twelve muggles, or James and Lily Potter. Legally, he still needs a trial.”

“And what do you expect to find?” Fudge snarled at his subordinate.

Sirius felt the large black man shrug next to him, still holding his elbow loosely. “The truth, I hope.”

 

* * *

 

Kay Cortell was generally content with his contract with Ministry of Magic. He was a successful, regularly sought-after, independent defense lawyer on his own, but about a decade ago, he had also accepted a side contract to be a Ministry-contracted defense lawyer when those charged by the Ministry had no access to a representative of their own. Kay had never had any issues with his contract; along with a small, nearly ignorable stipend, the contract allowed him to network with the politically elite and created publicity which grew his own business. Now, though, Kay considered dissolving the whole thing. Because those pricks up at the Ministry were insane or corrupted asking this of him, asking this of anyone, and couldn’t be trusted.

“Who’d we get this time?” Stacy asked, too busy doting on the Ministry’s owl, feeding her treats and stroking her feathers, to notice his boss’s rising temper until Kay crumpled the Ministry’s letter and hurled it at the waiting rubbish bin with a snarl. The bin whimpered when Kay’s throw missed completely. “Boss?” the young secretary took a hesitant step toward his mentor. “Who is it?”

Kay gritted his teeth. “Sirius Black.”

 

Kay did not dissolve his contract with the Ministry, nor did he send the Department of Magical Law Enforcement a succinctly worded howler, though the latter was only because Stacy swore to quit if he did that. Looking back after having calmed down, Kay knew Stacy had bluffed, but he also knew that his assistant was right. He had no justifiable reason not to represent Black, besides his own bias which every lawyer in the country had as well. So, after a Cheering Charm from Stacy, Kay had sworn to himself, and a stubborn Stacy, that he would do his due diligence in representing this client, he would act with all necessary professionalism, and he wouldn’t spare a thought for the man when Sirius Black lost and was given the Dementor’s Kiss. He might even go out for celebratory drinks afterward.

He sent Stacy to the Ministry to collect Black’s file and set himself up in his office, researching precedents of leniency towards escaped convicts. No one had ever escaped from Azkaban before Black, though now, only three years later, ten more convicted Death Eaters had escaped the hellish prison. One of those was Black’s cousin Bellatrix Lestrange and Kay looked forward to seeing how Black would attempt to explain away that connection.

All fugitives had escaped directly from Ministry custody and the only times trials had ever come out in favor of the escapee was when they had been given a sentence disproportionate to their crime. With thirteen deaths and connections to Death Eaters piled against his client, Kay would have to prove Sirius Black innocent if they wanted to win. It would undo all the work done on Black’s first trial. Many of those on the Wizengamot now had also held their seats when Black was first tried and would not appreciate their original ruling being called into question. Perhaps they should focus their appeal to some of the newer members? Along one side of his parchment of notes, Kay made a list of those he could recall taking their seats within the last decade. Herdersing, Greengrass, Goodwing, Erstwhile, Lursting…there were less than a dozen.

Stacy shouldered open the door without knocking. This was his usual habit and Kay didn’t bother to look up until Stacy dropped a cardboard box on the open book he was researching from. From the sound of it, the box was completely empty.

“Stacy, what’s this? I sent you for Black’s case file. I need something to work with.” Kay tried to keep the rising frustration out of his tone, not eager to be hit with another Cheering Charm.

“This is what they gave me,” Stacy said. Kay didn’t have any reason not to believe the kid. Stacy Cooper was young, just a few years out of Hogwarts, but he was a trusted assistant, hardworking with a good mind for details and patterns. There was a sharp look in the kid’s eye now as he nudged the empty box forward so, with his head cocked in curiosity, Kay lifted the lid off the box and looked inside.

On the bottom of the box lay two pieces of paper. One was a report of the original crime scene Black had been at, filled with the same details everyone already knew: exploded street, dead muggles, evaporated Pettigrew, and laughing Black. The other sheet of paper was Black’s transfer order to Azkaban Prison, effective immediately, dated November 2, 1981.

“Where are the court transcripts, the witness summons, who oversaw his trial?” Kay asked. Had every member of the file room staff gone on vacation?

“See, I asked Marcia about that,” Stacy said, “but she swore this was all they had under ‘Black, Sirius O.’ beside his work file—”

“Work file?”

“Yeah, Black worked MLE before his arrest and that was one of the reasons everything was hurried along. No one there wanted the public to know that the Ministry had been employing You-Know-Who’s right hand, you know. Anyways, I took the liberty while I was in Records to peruse the Daily Prophet archives and look what I found.” From his back pocket, Stacy pulled a folded copy of an Evening Prophet article dated November 2, 1981.

_TOP DEATH EATER INCARCERATED AFTR THE FALL OF YOU-KNOW-WHO by Kirk Passerby_

_We can all sleep safer tonight as Sirius Black, responsible this morning for the death of Peter Pettigrew and twelve watching Muggles and widely assumed to be the right-hand man to He-Must-Not-Be-Named, is in Azkaban. Many of us breathe a sigh of relief as yet another dangerous murderer is removed from the public and locked away where he can do no more harm._

_Based on the certainty of his guilt and the presence remaining Death Eaters still at large, Black was sent directly to Azkaban without a trial. Some are discontent with this course of action, saying that if given a trial, Black could reveal information as to the organization and whereabouts of other key members of You-Know-Who’s followers. However, the Ministry assures the wizarding public that with their master fallen and his second in command now imprisoned, the Death Eater organization will fall on its own. DMLE officials also report that Black proved silent and uncooperative during the transfer process, so much so that any trial’s costs would have outweighed potential beneficial information._

_We are grateful to have such a dangerous man behind bars and feel safe knowing the Ministry of Magic has cleanup from this difficult period well under control._

“I couldn’t understand why they were giving him a trial when they had already promised him the Dementor’s Kiss, but I think I understand now,” Kay said. He took the copy and placed it neatly in Black’s nearly empty box.

“But Black isn’t actually innocent, is he,” Stacy said, not really asking. The sky is blue. The Chudley Cannons play poorly. Sirius Black is evil. These were all solid facts. “At the Ministry, they were saying that Black was the one who requested the trial, but he can’t think that he’ll get away with everything. It’s probably just a distraction until he could escape again.”

“I don’t know what Black is planning.” Kay pushed himself away from his desk and stood, mind sprinting, trying to catch up with the new challenges. “I had better go hear what my client has to say. While I’m gone, start researching legal precedents for defendants denied an original trial. If Val calls, tell her I’ll probably be home late tonight. We’ve only got a week to prepare for the trial and I doubt the Wizengamot will accept a continuance.”


	2. Chapter 2

_HARRY POTTER MISSING; SIRUS BLACK FINALLY CAPTURED AND WAITS TO BE TRIED FOR HIS ORIGINAL CRIMES by Rita Skeeter_

_Harry Potter, fifteen-year-old boy long known for his defeat of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and recently known for his radical claims of the same dark wizard’s return, was last night declared_ missing. _Following an emotional breakdown during his school exams, Potter fled Hogwarts school grounds, attacking High Inquisitor and Acting Headmistress, Dolores Umbridge, as well as his close, personal friend and likely love interest, Hermione Granger. As available witnesses of Potter’s breakdown refused comment, the exact reason why Potter ran away is unclear, though Headmistress Umbridge confided in this reporter that just before his escape, she found Potter in her office illicitly attempting to contact Albus Dumbledore via her private floo network. The headmistress’ claims are not unfounded. Dumbledore, long lauded for his defeat of Gellert Grindelwald as well as his innovations in alchemy and other advanced fields of magic, is also nowhere to be found after escaping Ministry arrest this past March. Dumbledore was outspoken in his support of Potter’s claims of You-Know-Who’s return (whether Dumbledore has used his influence to manipulate Potter or has himself been duped by a power-hungry supposed savior, is yet to be known). However, why or if Potter was trying to contact his old headmaster remains unclear because while Potter disappeared, someone else made a startling emergence._

_Sirius Black, Azkaban escapee who has been on the run from recapture for the past three years, was found last night_ in the heart of the Ministry of Magic. _Aurors and Unspeakables responded late last night to alarms signaling a breach of the stringently classified Department of Mysteries only to find Black maliciously destroying invaluable and irreplaceable artifacts (the descriptions of which remain undisclosed by close-lipped Unspeakables). Azkaban guards were called to induce the Kiss on Black, but Black paused his fate by disclosing a shocking fact: Sirius Black was never tried for his original crimes fifteen years ago._

_Sirius Black was sent to Azkaban fifteen years ago for the deaths of Peter Pettigrew and twelve watching muggles, having killed them all in an explosion that demolished the entire street. Black was also under suspicion of ties to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, claimed by many to have been the dark wizard’s right hand and responsible for the deaths of his two friends, James and Lily Potter. It turns out that Black and James Potter were close friends during and after school and that Black had been named Harry Potter’s godfather in the Potters’ will. Black certainly had a hand in Potter’s disappearance, but further details surrounding Potter’s disappearance, Black’s reappearance, and Dumbledore’s involvement remain unclear. But never fear, readers, this reporter has been granted rights to cover Black’s trial which will commence in one week, though it is not yet clear who would dare defend or stand as witness for Black—_

“Shut up, you old hag!” Sirius threw the newspaper across the silent cell. Kingsley had smuggled it in to Sirius to help relieve the boredom, but Sirius couldn’t stand to read another word of the gossiping drivel that was pretending to pass as news. The papers scattered near the door, but he didn’t bother to gather them up again. There was no one else in the cell to see his mess and when he rolled over on his cot, even he couldn’t be bothered by it either.

The auror guard that had locked him into the cell had told him that he would be allowed one visitor per day and when Kingsley had stopped by, he had promised to tell Remus to come in as soon as he had time to find out where he had gone. There was, apparently, a bloody ton of paperwork when you were involved in the unofficial and off-duty team that brought in a highly dangerous, escaped prisoner, because it had been hours since Kingsley had been there and Sirius hadn’t heard another word from anyone. He started making a mental list of things he would need Remus to organize for the trial. They didn’t have a lot of physical evidence—unless they could catch Peter—but Sirius was willing to submit his memories as evidence, and to testify under Veritaserum. Then he created another list of places to search for Harry as soon as he was released, because Godric knew the aurors weren’t going to find Harry. They hadn’t even been able to find Sirius.

There was a rap on the cell door and Sirius, curled on his side on his uncomfortable cot, rocked up to greet Remus. Finally. Instead, however, the door swung open to reveal a tall man dressed in crisp robes. He walked in with straight-backed strength and purpose that contradicted his wrinkle-lined face and white hair. The man wore glasses, through which he eyed Sirius more critically than Sirius thought was reasonable.

“Who are you?” Sirius kept his tone cautious but polite enough that he thought Remus would be proud of him when he finally came to visit. If he was still allowed to come visit when this man, whoever he was, left.

“My name is Kay Cortell, Mr. Black. I am your Ministry-appointed representative for the trial.”

“I didn’t ask for any representative,” Sirius disagreed, respectfully. Well, he tried. But Remus wasn’t there and Sirius had all the evidence he needed at Grimmauld Place and in his own memories, he was willing to give up whatever he needed, including the secret of his and Peter’s animagi. And surely, he could count on a few Order members to testify on his behalf, if Dumbledore didn’t keep them all silent again, ‘for discretion’s sake.’

“I’m aware of that fact, Mr. Black, however, after the mess that was made of your case the first time around and the massive embarrassment it has now caused the Ministry, the DMLE insists this be done by the book.” Sirius opened his mouth to object, but Cortell cut him off. “I suggest you either take the Ministry’s generous offer, Mr. Black, or quickly hire private representation.”

“I am choosing to represent myself, Mr. Cortell,” Sirius tried to match the man’s condescension. “I am innocent, I have proof, and I don’t need you.”

“And I don’t need you, Mr. Black. I am employed by the Ministry and I will be paid whether you accept my services or not. However, you should know that public opinion is very much against your release. If you carry on in this trial trusting only in your innocence,” Cortell sneered the word, “I guarantee that you will be charged guilty, and the Dementor’s Kiss will be executed swiftly.”

The ice that crawled down Sirius’ spine made him hate Kay Cortell. “If public opinion is so against me,” he hissed, no longer caring whether he appeared politely sane or not, “how do I know you won’t sabotage me, too? I don’t believe that you just happen to be impartial. What, did you not lose anyone in the war?” Lily’s voice in the corner of his mind told him to _shut up, Black!_

“My sister-in-law and her children, as a matter of fact. She was a muggleborn from the Continent and now, seventeen years later, my brother still deals with his grief with copious amounts of alcohol and gambling. However, purposely sabotaging your case would look bad on my record. Rest assured that if you lose your case under my guidance, you are truly guilty and deserve to be sent to the deepest parts of hell.

“I am, however, gratified to see you going into this trial with a healthy dose of suspicion,” Cortell added. His voice dropped its menacing edge and his face smoothed into a mask of professionalism. Sirius hadn’t realized how pinched Cortell’s expression had been when he entered the cell until in smoothed. Cortell sat himself in the only chair in the small room and balanced his briefcase on his knees.

Sirius eyed the man who was too busy sorting through papers to look at him. He knew nothing about Cortell except what the man had just told him. His earlier words hung in the air, pushing in on Sirius like the too-close cell walls: _you will be charged guilty and the Dementor’s Kiss will be executed swiftly._

Twelve years under the dementors’ influence had not left Sirius as unaffected as he sometimes tried to pretend. Susceptible to mood swings even as a child, he now fell into extended depressive episodes and maudlin moods for weeks or months at a time. Anger, which he had been too exhausted to feel while in Azkaban, had accumulated through the years and now came out in overeager bursts of rage. The claustrophobia that now threatened to choke him had kept him haunting the halls of Grimmauld Place far more effectively than any of his damned departed ancestors had achieved. The cell he sat in now was only about eight feet by eight feet and during the last ten hours that he had spent there, Sirius had been very careful not to count how many minutes had outnumbered the compressed space he had.

The dementors had taken more out of him than Sirius would ever admit to anyone except Remus, who, on more than one occasion over the past year, had been the one to pull Sirius away from the edge. Sirius’ promises to Harry and Remus were the only reasons Sirius was still trying. And, Godric, was he trying, but he was still failing. Now, he had lost Harry.

He would get him back.

“Fine, I’ll take you.”

“Excellent. Let’s begin.” Cortell took out a self-inking quill and rearranged his papers so that a blank sheet of parchment was on top. With his quill poised to take notes, Cortell looked at Sirius squarely. “Mr. Black, convince me that you’re innocent.”

That was the one thing Sirius could do, knew he could do. He was innocent; that was the one fact that had sustained him for more than a decade against the dementors. He had not killed those muggles. Peter had. Sirius was innocent.

He took a deep breath. And then another. He opened his mouth to speak, but his words got mixed up in his throat and formed a knot that he could hardly breathe past. This wasn’t like telling Harry and Remus back in the Shrieking Shack. Both had already known parts of the story and Remus was ready and wanting to trust him from the beginning. He was able to offer his own side of the story and fill in all the important bits that Sirius forgot. Most importantly, Sirius was trying to convince Harry, and Harry was _Harry._ Sirius and Remus used to babysit him, back before everything had gone to shit, whenever James and Lily needed rest or a date. Sirius had been there for Harry’s first Christmas and had helped Harry decorate Lily’s stubborn-as-hell cat with tinsel. And on the Potters’ first— _only_ —Mother’s Day, James had called Sirius in a panic because “pancakes aren’t supposed to crawl out of the skillet, are they? They’re only half-cooked!” and Sirius had run over to find that Harry’s first accidental magic had been to _liven up_ the breakfast-in-bed that James had been preparing for Lily.

Harry, even for as little as they knew one another, was family. Sirius could and would tell him anything, especially with Remus there to help. But here in this suffocating cell, Sirius only had a humorless old man who likely already held Sirius personally responsible for all his difficulties since the war. Cortell wasn’t the first. The things Sirius had heard people say about him while he was on the run had almost convinced him that he deserved it.

But he didn’t. And even if he did, Harry didn’t. Sirius had to find him before something worse happened.

“Does anyone know where Harry is?” Sirius asked. Cortell raised a single white eyebrow at him.

“No. And you’re stalling. It’s not encouraging.”

“No,” Sirius disagreed, “I mean that Harry is more important. If—if there’s any news, will you tell me?”

“That depends entirely on how good your story is. If you ever get around to telling it to me, that is.” Cortell glanced towards the door like he was considering giving up already, but then he looked back to Sirius and settled more comfortably into his seat. “If you would, Mr. Black?”

“Not ‘Mr. Black’,” he began, “please. Mr. Black was my father and, believe me, you wouldn’t want to be identified by his name either. I’m just Sirius.”

“Fine,” Cortell said, obviously controlling his tone. “Convince me why you should not be thrown back to the dementors with ‘Mr. Black’ engraved on your eventual tombstone.”

“I am explaining. The first thing you have got to understand is that I have never gotten on with my family, not even when I was a kid,” Sirius said. “That’s part of what everyone says, isn’t it? That I went along with my family and served Voldemort?” Sirius was almost impressed that the lawyer didn’t flinch at the name. Instead, Cortell’s quill slid smoothly across his parchment leaving behind a trail of shorthand Sirius had no hope of understanding. “As far as I know, not a single person cared for me more than a convenient heir until I went to Hogwarts.”

“Keep going, Mr. Bl—Sirius,” Cortell said when Sirius paused. “What changed at Hogwarts?”

“At Hogwarts, I made three friends, my dormmates; James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew.” As he went on with his story, Sirius babbled, got distracted with tangents. He had had years to perfectly formulate his non-confession and he had done so dozens—if not hundreds—of times. But now that he finally got to tell someone everything with the sole purpose of getting free, and his mind swirled around too quickly to keep the story on track. He got caught on details, like the pranks they had all pulled back at Hogwarts and the way James had been sprawled across the front entryway that Halloween night. He had to backtrack and explain the necessary parts he forgot like how they had all lost trust in each other during the war and how he had gone to protect Harry before he had gone after Pettigrew. When he ran out of words, he sat fidgeting, knowing that he had both said too much and hadn’t said anywhere near enough. But he couldn’t remember what else he had missed either.

Cortell knew which questions to ask to lead Sirius back to those vital pieces of information, like when he said, “You said you used your illegal animagus form to escape Azkaban and that Pettigrew used his to fake his death, but you never said when the two of you became animagi. Was it for your work during the war?” Sirius’ knee was bouncing with anxiety and for a moment, he focused on stilling it. It stopped for a full three seconds before resuming its agitation.

Sirius turned Cortell’s question over in his head, then ran back through everything he had shared already because surely, he had explained the animagi, but then realized that he couldn’t remember mentioning it. “No. It was back at school, during our fifth year. James, Peter and I figured it out right after I turned sixteen, I think, but we had been working on it since our third year.” If Cortell was impressed by the revelation, he didn’t show it.

“Why not Remus Lupin? From what you’ve said, he would have likely been more successful with the advanced transfiguration than Pettigrew.”

Sirius shivered. The four of them had hypothesized about it once, on one half remembered night during their fourth year, wondering what animal Remus would become if he were to attempt the transformation. It hadn’t been a serious conversation until James had snuck down to the library and come back white faced with a book that described one werewolf who had tried to become an animagus to escape the curse of the werewolf transformations. She had become permanently trapped in the body and mind of a feral wolf. James, Sirius, and Peter had made Remus swear to never attempt the animagus transformation.

“No,” Sirius said too quickly. “He can’t. We became animagi for him though, to help him. He always hurt himself on full moon nights because he was all alone and didn’t have any other way to release his energy so we transformed with him to keep him company and help him harness the excess so he wouldn’t end up killing himself. He almost did a few times before we figured our transformation out. James’s and my animagi were large enough and strong enough to keep Moony, the wolf, contained and Peter was small enough to keep out of the way.” Cortell froze.

“Lupin is a werewolf?” In the past, Sirius would have castigated himself for revealing Moony’s secret—once, it had been his greatest regret—but thanks to Snape, Remus’s lycanthrope was now open knowledge.

“There was an article about it in the _Daily Prophet_ just after my escape from Hogwarts. Snape told his students who told their parents who wrote to the _Prophet_ who called for Remus’s imprisonment. Like he would hurt any of his students,” Sirius added bitterly. “I think Albus forced a retraction of the article, but it still made a bit of a buzz. Weren’t you paying attention?”

“Apparently not,” Cortell said. “How many people know about this fact, do you think?”

“Enough that no one has been willing to hire him permanently since he resigned from Hogwarts. What does it matter though, aside from our becoming animagi?”

“It means that he’s less valuable as a witness,” Cortell said. He didn’t look at Sirius, too busy making a new column of bullets down the left margin of his parchment, so he didn’t see Sirius blanch. “We can still use him, of course, but his testimony will have to be backed up by other witnesses, at least enough of it that the Wizengamot won’t doubt the rest of his testimony.”

“What,” Sirius asked sardonically. “They won’t trust the werewolf associate of a suspected mass murderer?”

“Shockingly, no, they likely won’t, not initially anyways. However, if we can prove to the Wizengamot that Lupin can be trusted beyond a shadow of a doubt, it will improve your case.” Cortell tapped his quill twice before apparently deciding that he had nothing left to add to his unintelligible list for the time being. When he looked back up at Sirius, the corners of his mouth were curled upwards in a familiar expression that wasn’t quite a smile. It took Sirius a moment to place the look and when he did, it was like a fist around his heart. Fleamont used to wear that expression when he came back from his laboratory with the plan to make some complicated potion work, or when he challenged James and Sirius to a two-on-one mock-duel. Sirius hadn’t been able to remember much about either Fleamont or Euphemia in at least five years. It was a moment before Sirius could breathe again and he ignored Cortell’s brief expression of concern.

“How? Why?” Sirius barked, jerking his thoughts back to the conversation.

“If I can prove Lupin’s trustworthiness, it will raise your own by association. Your becoming an animagus for him at such a young age will demonstrate both your intellect and loyalty, and these traits are too at odds with the sort of person who would publicly kill thirteen people.”

“Yes, I do try to restrain myself from unnecessary public mass murder when I can,” Sirius said dryly.

“Black?”

“Yes?”

“At the trial, please try not to antagonize the court.”

 

* * *

 

When Kay had been assigned Sirius Black’s case, he had been angry. Since the day he was arrested, Black was—had been—the face of the Death Eater organization and, by those who had lost loved ones in the war, he had been held personally responsible for more crimes than one man could have ever committed. Kay had not been an exception. Before hearing his client’s story, he had let his work be swayed by the ingrained bias. But he had listened to Black’s story. He wasn’t convinced, not yet, but with even just a little evidence, he knew he would be. Kay didn’t know Black from before the war, didn’t personally know a single one of the characters involved in the man’s convoluted story, but his words held that clear ring of truth he rarely heard from his defendants.

If everything Black said was true, then He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named really had returned. Kay was not ready to deal with that yet, truth or not, so he pushed it to the back of his mind. He would finish this case first and then begin processing that.

He needed to interview everyone Black had referenced in his story. Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore would have been prime witnesses, nearly indisputable based on their reputations, even tarnished as they currently were. However, based off the snatches of the aurors’ conversations he caught on his way out of the DMLE, the searches for Harry Potter had still proved fruitless and Dumbledore was still in the wind avoiding arrest, unreachable. Kay would have to make his case solidly on the witnesses he still had available. Remus Lupin was top of the list, then Potter’s friends who Black said had been involved in his second escape, and whoever else they could get to corroborate the story of a potentially mad escapee, a werewolf, and two teenagers. He pondered the issue all the way to his office where he found Stacy at the front desk, already leaning forward expectantly when Kay walked in.

“Did you see him then? Black? Did he admit to everything or is he actually trying to play innocent?” Stacy, for all that he would someday be a talented lawyer, still tended to be exuberant when he was meant to remain unbiased.

“Yes, I saw him. I’ll be in my office, but in a few minutes, I’ll need you to look up the whereabouts of a few people for me.”

“Yes, sir,” Stacy said, sitting back properly at Kay’s unusually professional air.

“And, Stacy?” Kay added with a hand on the knob of his door.

“Yes, sir?”

“Please remember that your confidentiality contract still applies, despite the media attention this case will garner us.”

“Of course, sir.”

At his desk, Kay pulled out the notes he had taken while listening to Black’s story. The words scratched across the parchment didn’t paint a very promising picture of the wizarding world. For the government to allow a man to be framed in order to cover their own arses, leave him in hell for more than ten years and for not a single person, not even his friends, to question it? It was barbaric.

The research Kay had asked Stacy for while he was gone was waiting on his desk, but was disappointingly useless. There was no record of any legal precedents that fit with Black’s case. In every other case of an accused person denied trial, there was indisputable evidence of their guilt, and there was no instance of a convicted criminal escaping prison because they were either sent directly to Azkaban or sentenced to death on the spot. The most recently recorded instance of a suspect denied trial was several hundred years old. Even Grindelwald had received a trial after Dumbledore apprehended him, at Dumbledore’s insistence in fact. They were running a unique trial here. This case would make Kay’s name, whether for good or bad.

“Stacy, I need you to start filing Black’s animagus status,” Kay called through the open doorway. They might as well get the easiest things out of the way first.

“Delinquent, I’m guessing,” Stacy asked. From the sounds of drawers being open and shut and the parchment being shuffled around, Kay assumed his assistant was already hunting down the necessary forms. Delinquent animagus reporting was a more frequent problem than the textbooks liked to claim, though still hardly common. It was still a crime that carried with it a hefty prison sentence (or, in the case of the very wealthy, a hefty fine), though Kay was sure they could negotiate it to time served. “How long?” Stacy asked. It took Kay a moment to count the years in his head.

“About twenty-one years.” There was the sound of heavy glass rolling across wood and muffled swear-punctuated cleaning charms. When Stacy shoved past Kay’s perpetually half-open door, the ink stain on his shirt was only half spelled away.

“You didn’t say twenty-one,” the kid ordered. “Please, boss, tell me you didn’t say twenty-one.” The look in Stacy’s eye was frazzled as he continued, “Because if Sirius Black has been an animagus for the past twenty-one years, that means he became animagus when he was fifteen. And that he could have escaped Azkaban at any time and come after us all.”

“Firstly,” Kay corrected, “he was just turned sixteen when he became an animagus, and secondly, I don’t think he had any interest in killing all of us.” _Just one Peter Pettigrew_.

“That isn’t better! Besides, isn’t becoming an animagus incredibly difficult, especially on your own. He’d have to be—”

“Extremely intelligent with high motivation,” Kay said. “He is and he had. So, the paperwork, please. We need to have it submitted before court on Thursday and you know how the Administration Department likes to drag their feet over these things.” Stacy nodded slowly, but hovered in the doorway with an expression torn between obedience and doubt. “Something to add, Stacy?”

“Just,” the young man hedged, “are you sure Black’s innocent? He honestly sounds like he could have killed all those people and wouldn’t have lost much sleep over it.”

Kay nibbled for a moment on the end of his quill while he considered. Stacy was brilliant for his age and had the potential to become a successful lawyer someday. The only problem was that Stacy was too idealistic for the job. As much as Kay valued Stacy’s usually fresh approach to problems, he knew that Stacy needed the reality check Kay was about to give him.

“Stacy, you know that not everyone we represent is innocent of their crimes, don’t you? I would even hazard to say that most of our clients are guilty. We have defended guilty clients in the past and we will continue to do so in the future, especially as we are contracted with the Ministry. Whether innocent or guilty though, it is our responsibility to represent each client to the best of our abilities. That is our duty as public defenders.”

Stacy sighed and walked forward until he could slump into one of the chairs in front of Kay’s desk. “I know that, obviously, as a defending lawyer, but I was thinking of someday going into prosecution instead of—”

“I’m going to stop you there.” Judging by the way Stacy’s shoulders fell, Kay could have been kinder, but this was important. “You could vet more of your clients as a prosecuting attorney, however, some corrupt liars will still slip through. By the time you realize you are destroying some innocent person’s life, you will be too deep in erumpent dung to pull yourself out without blowing yourself to pieces.” Stacy wrinkled his nose at the analogy, but gestured for Kay to continue. “I’m not trying to discourage you either way. What I’m trying to say, Stace, is that you will be strong in any field you choose to pursue, but you will only be truly successful if you lead with your mind rather than your heart. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, I do,” Stacy said on a sigh.

“Good,” Kay said. “On a more positive note, though, I do believe Sirius Black is innocent.” Stacy’s drooping head shot up and his eyes were wide as a child’s.

“Kay, how—”

“Have you read any of my notes from this morning’s interview yet? I put a copy on your desk when I got back.”

“No, I haven’t had time yet. Kay, are you sure he isn’t tricking you?”

“I could be wrong,” Kay admitted. “I’ve been wrong before, and I’ll withhold my final judgement until I have more sources to back Black’s story—I’ll get you those names as soon as I figure them out—but for the moment, I am hesitantly optimistic and think he’s telling the truth. There’s a lot of loyalty in that man.”

“But the way they said he attacked Pettigrew, that can’t be faked,” Stacy said.

Yes, Pettigrew. If only they could find him and put him on trial, with a stomach full of Veritaserum. “No, that’s true, Black wouldn’t have lost even a little sleep over murdering Pettigrew,” though he’s lost a lot of sleep over not murdering him. “However, the muggles, he never would have done that.” Stacy opened his mouth, likely to argue, but Kay raised a hand to quiet him. “The notes are on your desk. Take a few minutes to read over them. You’ll need the details there to complete the delinquent animagus paperwork anyway. Go on.”

By the time Stacy had finished reading the notes, he was solidly supporting Black which helped things run quite smoothly in the office. Together, the two men put together what Stacy lovingly referred to as their battle plan.

“These people should all be fairly simple to find,” Kay said as he scratched in the last name on their list, “but I need all known addresses for each of them please.”

“Of course,” Stacy said, “but shouldn’t we have more witnesses? This is a big case.”

“I wish there were more people to testify on Black’s behalf,” Kay admitted, “but with bias so strongly against him, we won’t be able to find many witnesses truthfully willing to help us. With some luck, we’ll find more along the way.”

“We’ve got less than a week though, Kay.”

“I know, Stace, believe me, I know.”

 

* * *

 

In light of Harry Potter’s disappearance directly from her care and—if rumors were to be believed—because of her direct actions, Acting Headmistress Dolores Umbridge had been recalled to the Ministry. Dumbledore still hadn’t been heard from and Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall was still in St. Mungo’s, though apparently well on her way to mended. Hogwarts was being run by the other heads of house. Poor Stacy spent all of Friday afternoon back and forth between searching for Remus Lupin and negotiating a time for Kay to interview Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, who were still at school until the end of the term. Hogwarts’ security had been increased overnight, understandably, and visitations were difficult to get, but because a certain werewolf’s whereabouts were unknown, all of his recent addresses reporting that Lupin hadn’t been around in months, Hogwarts was the easier first option. Stacy and Filius Flitwick finally agreed on Saturday morning after breakfast, Stacy having pressed for the earliest time available. He deserved a large bonus after this case was finished.

When Kay apparated into Hogsmeade, the streets were quieter than he expected. It wasn’t an open weekend for the school so it was expected that the village wouldn’t be bursting with activity and visitors, but there was almost no one on the streets at all which was unusual for the well-known wizarding village. The people Kay did see hurried directly to their destinations, not stopping to chat or gossip in the streets. Few even spared a nod in Kay’s direction.

He had expected to walk all the way up the path to Hogwarts alone, perhaps even doddle a bit and reminisce. However, the gate to the path, usually wide open, was closed, spelled so that it would not open even when he pushed against it. He wasn’t certain whether he should head back to the village and send a message up to the castle or whether he should keep attempting to get through the gate. Before he had made up his mind though, Kay saw someone come around a bend in the path. Pomona Sprout had seemed a cheery woman the few times Kay had met her, and his daughter had often written when she was at school that she was grateful the woman was her head of house because she was the most welcoming, cheerful professor in the school. Now though, Pomona’s expression was drawn with stress and her shoulders were stiff like she had braced them to bear some great weight.

She reached the gate, but did not open it. Regarding him critically, she said, “Please state your name and reason for visiting.”

“Kay Cortell,” he introduced himself, though they had met before. “I am here to interview two of your students on behalf of my client.” Pomona relaxed slightly, but was not yet satisfied.

“Who is your client?” she asked.

“Sirius Black.” He hesitated to give his clients name, though of course Stacy had needed too in order to gain to the interview in the first place. However, at Black’s name, Pomona’s expression lifted and though the tension did not leave her body, she opened the gate and stepped back to let him in easily.

“Welcome, we’ve been expecting you,” she said. “We’ve had to increase security, as I’m sure you understand. A student ran away, of course, but also, you’re not the first visitor we’ve had and several have come specifically to exploit any weaknesses we might have without our headmaster and deputy headmistress.”

“Have any been successful?” Kay asked.

“Of course not. We are very careful with the safety of our students,” Pomona said. He considered asking her about the worrying trend in recent years of known risks being introduced to Hogwarts without public knowledge—Stacy had come to work for him without having taken his NEWTs yet because of the Heir of Slytherin and mass petrification issue that had permeated Hogwarts during his seventh year—but he wasn’t there to interrogate the professor and it wouldn’t do him any good to get uninvited before he had a chance to visit with the two fifth years.

They continued to the castle in silence. The tension that held Pomona stiff seemed to have wrapped its way all through Hogwarts’s walls as well. While usually students would have been excited to enjoy the nice weather free from exams, few ventured out onto the grounds and those that did kept themselves clustered in tight groups close to the castle. Inside, there were more students, most of them finishing their breakfasts and wandering out of the Great Hall, but they were all returning directly to their common rooms, talking lowly to one another. Those they passed eyed him suspiciously, but no one stopped either him or Pomona.

“Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger are waiting for us in my office. Do you need to speak with them alone?” Pomona asked.

“I would prefer it,” Kay admitted. “The fewer people who know the details of my case, the easier things are for me and my assistant, but I’ll understand if you or another professor feels the need to sit in on the discussion, seeing as they are minors.”

She hesitated before she said, “As long as you speak with them together, I have no problem leaving you with them.” Kay raised a surprised eyebrow, but before he could ask, she said, “With all the chaos that woman has caused this year, we’re shorthanded playing catch-up.” It took a moment before Kay realized she was referring to the recalled High Inquisitor, Acting Headmistress Umbridge. Sprout continued with a secret in her eye, “Besides, I am certain that Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger could easily hold their own against you, if need be. The both of them have been very well taught this year.”

The two teens were waiting in the bare, obviously rarely used office. They had been arguing together quietly, but their hissing cut off abruptly when the adults entered, both of them focusing on Kay. Unsettlingly, the teens’ attention was wholly analytical.

“Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, this is Kay Cortell, Sirius Black’s representative for his trial. I have some things to attend to before Minerva returns. If you need anything, send for me.” With that, she left Kay with the two young people who in their bearing could not be considered children, but who were too young not to trigger a protective instinct.

Ronald Weasley would have been tall if he had been standing, but seated at a desk next to his friend, he was hunched forward with his weight concentrated on his crossed arms. As expected, he had the tell-tale Weasley red hair and hundreds of freckles visible on his face and the back of his neck. He was thin, gangly, but nowhere near frail. His loose robes hid any muscle he might have had, but he held himself solidly, like he wouldn’t hesitate to throw himself into a fight, whether magic or physical.

Hermione Granger was a petite young woman with dark skin and wild hair. Her robes were exceptionally tidy even though exams were finished and she sat primly with her back straight and her wand already out. She didn’t fidget, like many would have, but she held her wand handle lightly, ready to use. Her confidence in her own magic was obvious, and based on Pomona’s comments, Kay expected that confidence was well-earned.

Rather than take Pomona’s desk, Kay sat himself down at the desk next to the one Ron and Hermione shared and began setting himself up to take notes. The silence stretched as he organized himself and the questions he had prepared. He was not the one to break the silence.

“What have you found out about Harry?” Ronald demanded before Kay had finished.

“Ron!” Hermione reprimanded, but Ronald fought back.

“No one is telling us anything, Hermione,” he said, “but he’s been at the Ministry, he has to know something!” Hermione didn’t agree verbally, but she did look hopefully at Kay when Ronald did.

“I’m afraid I haven’t heard much more than the public,” Kay told them. “The aurors have tried searching several known Death Eater properties, they tried tracing the signatures in the Department of Mysteries, but there’s too much down there disturbing anything they could have used.” Both teens wilted. “They’re still searching, you know, nearly every auror in the field.”

“Yeah, because they’ve done so well finding people in the past. At least Harry’s not an animagus; maybe that’ll make it easier for them, yeah?” Ron rolled his eyes.

Hermione smiled a little, but then it fell. “Peter is though,” she reminded him. Ron’s mirth died.

“Right,” he said sullenly.

Kay watched the two for a moment. They both looked like they were ready to face off against an opponent, like they were accustomed to having a person or creature to fight, but for the first time, couldn’t find one.

“I don’t have any more information on your friend. If I could ask you about Sirius Black though,” he began, but was immediately cut off by Hermione.

“Sirius hasn’t gone and done something stupid again, has he?”

Kay arched an eyebrow.

“Again? Twice in two days? That’s pushing it even for him, don’t you think Hermione?” Ron said.

“Well, it’s not unprecedented, is it?” Hermione said.

Kay raised both eyebrows.

The teens were better acquainted with Sirius than Sirius had implied. “Perhaps we should start at the beginning,” he said. “How did you two meet Black?” Sirius had been somewhat vague on that topic, saying only that he had gone after Peter Pettigrew and that the three kids had been there.

“Er,” Hermione said noncommittally.

“He bit my leg,” Ron said. Ink splotched across Kay’s notes.

“He what?” Assault of a minor wasn’t even close to the worst of Sirius’ accused crimes, but they were all bad enough that he would really prefer not to add more crimes to the list of the man he was trying to defend.

“I mean, he was Padfoot then, in his animagus form, you know, and so was Peter—Peter had been my pet rat, Scabbers—and he kept trying to run away so I was holding him and then this big black dog came out of nowhere. I was trying to protect Scabbers so I got in the way and so Padfoot got me instead. He broke my leg dragging me into the Shrieking Shack.” Kay stared at the young man, his mouth hanging open. How much had Sirius withheld?

“Of course, then he explained everything,” Hermione continued, “he and Professor Lupin. They were helping us get back to the castle with Professor Snape and Peter Pettigrew when Professor Lupin transformed. Sirius protected us from him, then tried to protect Harry from the dementors too.”

“Where did Professor Snape come into this?” Kay asked. Sirius had mentioned their school rivalry.

“He came to take Sirius to the dementors,” Hermione said, “but, er…”

“But we disarmed him, all three of us, and, er, accidently knocked him out,” Ron said. Kay shook his head and wrote that down as well, though he hoped to never have to mention it in court. He continued asking them questions about the details from that night—how sane Sirius had seemed? had he purposely hurt any of them? why hadn’t he killed Pettigrew?—and both answered him readily, until he asked, “How did Sirius Black escape that night?”

Ron looked at Hermione. “Er, I’m still a bit fuzzy on that,” he stammered, “see I was still in the hospital with that broken leg, you know, and…” Hermione was blushing.

“Miss Granger,” Kay prompted. “I’m afraid Sirius was not particularly eloquent on this subject, so I need as much detail as you can provide me, please.”

“It, er, wasn’t entirely legal on our part,” Hermione hedged. _Of course, it wasn’t_ , Kay thought. _It involves escape of arrest and Sirius Black. Even just one of those things would be enough_.

“I’m certain we’ll be able to smooth over any technicalities,” Kay said and waved for her to continue.

“Well, see, that year, Professor McGonagall was able to get permission for me to use a Ministry-issued time turner, just for my classes you see, and well, that night, Professor Dumbledore, he suggested that Harry and I might turn a few hours back.”

At the end of her story, Kay was very glad that his daughter had decided to homeschool her children. From the sound of it, Hogwarts was becoming as backwards as the Ministry. ‘Not entirely legal’ was an understatement of epic proportions. However, both Hermione and Harry were minors and had been only—Merlin—fourteen and thirteen respectively at the time and had been acting at the prodding of Dumbledore when they broke every law over magical time travel that existed. Likely, neither teen would get into much legal trouble, especially with Harry Potter’s fame protecting them, as well as his recent disappearance. Then again, Albus Dumbledore hadn’t explicitly told them what to do, so he would avoid legal prosecution as well. Damn.

Perhaps they should just try to keep the entire Time Turner incident as quiet as possible.

“Have either of you seen Sirius Black since his escape from Hogwarts?” Kay asked.

“Yeah, we were all living at his house last summer,” Ron said. Hermione jabbed him in the side with her elbow.

“Who is all?” Kay asked pointedly, but Hermione only shook her head.

“We shouldn’t say, I’m sorry,” she said.

“Would you both be willing to testify before the Wizengamot?”

“Of course,” both nodded.

“You’ll let us know if anything about Harry turns up, though, right?” Ron asked when Kay stood to leave.

“I’m sure you two will hear about Harry Potter’s whereabouts long before I do,” he said, “but, yes, if I learn anything, I will send you an owl. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot to prepare for court.”

\

“Black!” A voice jerked Sirius out of wavering dreams that he would have been grateful to escape if he hadn’t fallen off his cot and toppled the lone chair as well.

“Wot you w’nt?” he scowled in the direction of the voice as he picked himself up. Cortell stood by the open door, outwardly as put together as he had been the first time he had come, but looking distinctly frazzled about the eyes.

“You escaped Hogwarts using two third years, a Time Turner, and a hippogriff?”

“Talked to Hermione, did you?” Sirius grinned widely and sprawled across his cot, pretending he was comfortable there. “I had nothing to do with that, you know. They just blasted open my window and handed me the hippogriff. I never even got the full story until last summer when I asked them.” Cortell’s expression was unimpressed.

“Yes, last summer. When they were living with you.” Sirius couldn’t read if Kay’s displeasure came from the fact that they, and their families, had been living at Grimmauld Place or whether it was because he hadn’t known about that fact already.

“That wasn’t my fault either,” Sirius said, referring to both or either. “Dumbledore stuck everyone there. I didn’t even want to be there in the first place. At least they all got to leave. Speaking of which,” he added, “would you ask Remus to go check on Buckbeak? I’m sure the poor guy is hungry by now and Kreacher has probably been tormenting him.”

Cortell righted the chair Sirius had toppled then sat down heavily. “I haven’t been able to contact Remus Lupin. My assistant—who has never been successfully evaded for this long, by the way—can’t find him anywhere. Lupin’s most recent known address is several months out of date and his landlord said he left abruptly when he could no longer afford rent—didn’t leave any forwarding address.” Sirius’ mouth folded into a frown. Yes, Remus had spent a lot of time at Grimmauld Place lately, but it hadn’t been enough to think that he was homeless again. Where else had he been staying? Did he have any work, how was he eating, how much weight loss had he been hiding beneath baggy robes, and why was that man always too damn stubborn to ask for help?

“Check my place,” Sirius said without thinking, but then felt his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth when he remembered, again, that he was not the Secret Keeper of his own house; Dumbledore was.

“All right,” Kay said, not noticing Sirius’ dilemma as he dug out a quill and scrap of parchment from the endless supply in his briefcase. With his quill poised to write, Cortell asked, “What’s the address? It’s not on any of your files anywhere.” Sirius sighed.

“I can’t tell you. I’m not the Secret Keeper,” he said and Cortell looked up at him sharply.

“Fidelius Charm,” he stated more that asked. Sirius nodded. “Who is the Secret Keeper then?”

“Dumbledore.” He was honest enough not to hide his bitterness.

“Of course he is,” Cortell huffed, and slumped back in his seat. “Listen, I’d like to void Dumbledore, if possible, at least until the trial.” He either didn’t notice when Sirius raised an eyebrow at him, or was purposefully ignoring him. “Do you know anyone who could get in contact with him? These kinds of things should not be sent by owl.”

“Sure, ask Mad-Eye. Or Dora. Or Arthur Weasley or Kingsley Shacklebolt or Minerva McGonagall or Daedalus Diggle or…” Sirius shrugged as if he hadn’t just listed half the core of the Order of the Phoenix. It wasn’t like he knew anyone else these days, anyways.

“I will do so,” Cortell said. “How many people exactly were sheltering you as an escaped convict?”

Sirius smiled. “I lost track sometime between Azkaban and Hogsmeade, but then again, a lot of those people thought I was a very friendly stray, so you can’t really blame them.” Cortell’s glare didn’t hold nearly as much heat as he probably wanted it to.

“How many people were sheltering you and knew your identity,” he clarified. Sirius shrugged, but didn’t answer and Cortell gave up. “I’ve talked to Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, we’ll get ahold of Remus Lupin and I’ll probably have to interview the aurors that so conveniently knew how to find you,” Cortell scowled at Sirius, but continued. “In the meantime, my assistant and I are sorting through the errors made of your original case, though, honestly it would be more accurate to call the entire thing one massive error because I don’t think even a single Ministry employee thought to question the legality of it. Is there anyone else I need to talk to? Anyone else who would know about the original Fidelius deal or about any of your escapes?”

“Most of the people I knew are dead or traitors, so no,” Sirius said.

“Fine,” Cortell sighed. “I’ll figure something out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> I'm not sure when the next chapter will be out because I'm going to work on finishing the first chapter of my Check Please fic first (1. if you haven't read the Check Please webcomic, YOU SHOULD! 2. if you do read the Check Please webcomic, you will notice a little easter egg in the next chapter, one that made my betareader glare at me in betrayal, and then threaten my life. Can't wait.)
> 
> Anyways see you next time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my hell chapter, the whole reason that this fic took me over a year to start posting. But it's finally done and Sirius gets his trial.

Sirius was not pacing, a fact which he was proud of even if the only thing holding him in place was the auror who held Sirius’s cuffed hands behind his back. However, he also wasn’t twitching or even fidgeting so he chose to congratulate himself anyways.

“Sirius, breathe,” Cortell ordered. Sirius did, nodding jerkily and dragging air in through his clenched teeth.

Sirius, Cortell, and two aurors stood in a small antechamber off the courtroom where the trial would be held. Sirius had spent the week growing more and more compressed by the tiny Ministry cell he had been awarded and had been sure that the week would never end. Cortell promised that the week had flown by and he had hardly had time to get all their witnesses and arguments in place. “When we win this,” he had told Sirius earlier that morning, “I am going to have a strong drink and then sleep for several days.” Sirius, however, felt no exhaustion. He had been idling for days, months in fact, and he was restless, eager to get back out into the wizarding world and to begin his search for Harry.

However, first he had to get through the trial. “Don’t struggle,” Cortell had advised him. “Don’t glare, threaten, or goad. Make the audience see you as the civilized man you are.” So far, Sirius had been successful, not sassing either of his guards at all. But the trial hadn’t begun yet. Sirius could hear the heavy rumble of voices through the door in front of him. Everyone in that courtroom would be watching him for even the smallest transgression, hundreds of eyes dissecting his every movement and that, more than even manacles he wore, was agitating Sirius’ claustrophobia.

He steeled his nerves yet again. He needed this trial, not for his freedom so much as for Harry’s. Sirius had already proven that he could survive without the Ministry finding him, but he wouldn’t be able to move freely enough in the wizarding world to find Harry unless he was a free man.

The door adjoining the antechamber and the courtroom opened. The rumble of voices grew to a thunderous barrage and another auror waved them forward into the storm.

The room was like an auditorium, wide with high ceilings and seating that rose in a stair-step fashion. The benches lined the perimeter of the room, all of them facing the center where at the lowest point of the room, a solid wooden chair sat. Near the imposing chair there was a simple desk and a chair for the defense representative.

Though the courtroom was potentially the same one Harry’s disciplinary hearing had been held in eleven months earlier, due to Sirius’ notoriety and accused crimes, the security was far higher than anything Harry had described. When the auror guiding him shoved Sirius into the hard, wooden chair in the middle of the room, the chains coiled around the armrests came to life and clamped themselves twice around his wrists. Another set of chains tightened around his ankles and secured them to the legs of the chair. He struggled instinctively, but then another, stronger feeling stilled him with cold dread. Because of the chains restraining him, Sirius couldn’t turn to see them around the back of the chair, but he could feel the dementors looming in courtroom, just yards behind him.

Most witches and wizards would assume that dementors didn’t experience emotions, didn’t feel anything at all except maybe hunger, but Sirius had spent far too long in the custody of the creatures to not have learned to detect their emotions. For example, now, the dementors there in the courtroom with him were excited, even enthused. They were practically salivating at the prospect of taking Sirius’ soul. They considered it a certainty.

Sirius didn’t realize his fists were clenched until he felt drops of blood slick his palms and wet the tips of his fingers. Moving slowly enough that he doubted anyone would notice, he turned his hands downward so that no one would see the proof of his terror. He considered looking for Remus in the audience, but, though he knew Remus would be there as an island of relative calm, safe and secure, the rest of the crown writhed with bloodlust. Everyone from the reporters to the Wizengamot to the casual onlookers anticipated Sirius being declared guilty. They wanted to someday tell the tale of how they had seen the notorious murderer Sirius Black charged for his crimes just moments before his soul was taken.

Sirius focused all his attention on Cortell who strode with easy confidence through the courtroom, only glancing at Sirius as he came around the manacle chair to his own small desk. Sirius wasn’t sure he trusted his lawyer not to let him down, but at this point, Cortell held Sirius’ fate in his hands.

Amelia Bones shot  three loud bangs from her wand and brought the crowd to silence. The audience was ready for their spectacle to begin.

Amelia Bones’ voice rang out over the still room. “Criminal trial of the twelfth of June into offenses including: the murder of one wizard Peter Pettigrew with a Blasting Curse on the first of November of 1981; the murder of twelve muggles—Randal Allard, Anna Amsel, Ruben Amsel, Jerrie Gilliam, Reva Gupta, Gwyneth Higgins, Beckwith Knight, Larissa Knight, Énna Kynaston, Franklyn O'Shea, Monique Reier, and Brandie Spear—with a Blasting Curse on the first of November of 1981; conspiracy with and support of the dark wizard He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named resulting specifically in the deaths of James Potter and Lily Potter on the thirty-first of October of 1981; escape from Azkaban prison on the thirtieth of July of 1993; escape from Ministry custody on the sixth of June of 1994; trespassing into the Department of Mysteries on the eighteenth of June of 1995.

“Interrogators: Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Pius Thicknesse, Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Rufus Scrimgeour, Head Auror. Trial presided over by Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley. Counselor for the defense, Kay Layne Cortell. Defense, do you have anything objections or points of dispute?”

“Yes, Madam, we do,” Kay said. He had told Sirius earlier to let him do all the talking, to sit calmly, because he didn’t trust Sirius not to let his temper loose on the Wizengamot. Originally, Sirius had agreed, not trusting his own temper either. Now he was grateful for the agreement because it hid the fact that here in the spacious courtroom, he was frozen, feeling more suffocated than he ever had in his tiny cell. “According to Wizengamot Trial Procedure Section 4, Article II, witnesses called by the defense may not preside over the trial. Minister, if you would please join the other witnesses on the witness bench?”

The uproar from the audience was so loud that the cracks from Madam Bones’ wand and her commands for order could not be heard and aurors were forced to cast silencing charms over the crowd.

“Minister?” Madam Bones looked to her right where Cornelius Fudge was glowering down at Cortell.

“I received no summons for this,” Fudge ground out stiffly.

“Oh, I’m certain you did, Minister. In fact, after you ignored my four initial summons, I sent my assistant to deliver them personally only yesterday,” Cortell said.

“I don’t think I met him. Are you sure he wasn’t using the errand to get out of work for a while? You should supervise your employees better, Cortell.” The audience, interrogators, and entire Wizengamot followed the verbal jabs like they were watching a duel.

“I’m certain you did meet him, Minister. In fact, Mr. Lowell told me that you all but threw him from your office.” All heads swiveled back to the Minister.

“Was that your secretary?” Fudge asked mildly.

“My only one,” Cortell said.

“Well, he was very rude.”

“Really?” Cortell raised one sardonic eyebrow. “I’ve never seen him to be anything less that perfectly polite. But, more to the point, Minister, you did receive my court summons, did you not?”

“I did not realize that was for this trial,” Fudge hedged though by the whispers passed around the room, the audience and Wizengamot had lost trust in the Minister’s denials.

“This is the only trial I’m currently defending. If you would, Minister.” Cortell motioned for Fudge to join Remus, Hermione, and Mad-Eye on the lowest level bench. Rigidly, and very obviously only because he had no other choice, Fudge stepped down from his raised seat. There were whispers until he took his seat on the witness bench, edged as far from the other witnesses as the length of the bench allowed him. “Thank you, Minister, Madam Bones. Before we begin the trial, there is also the issue of the two charges of escape of imprisonment. Because Mr. Black was never formally convicted of any of the other crimes, his imprisonment was unlawful and therefore make the charges of escape invalid.”

“Prisoners accused of high crimes or who are considered flight risks are often held in Azkaban until their trials,” Madam Bones disagreed.

“However, no trial was ever set nor even considered. According to the Ministry, my client was to be held in Azkaban indefinitely for, legally, no reason at all.”

Madam Bones hesitated before conferring briefly in whispers with Thicknesse and Scrimgeour. At length, she announced, “Due to initial certainty of Sirius Black’s crimes, the two charges of escape of imprisonment will be dropped only if he is found innocent of his other crimes by the Wizengamot at the culmination of this trial.” Cortell nodded in satisfaction.

“We have no further disputes,” he said and stepped back with an air of humility that belied the fact that Cortell now had the audience comfortably settled in the palm of his hand. He didn’t even appear to care about the watching witches, wizards, journalists and photographers

“In that case, the trial of Sirius Black will now commence.”

 

* * *

 

Thicknesse spoke first. “Mr. Black, you will answer all questions posed to you by both the counselor, and the interrogators. If the interrogators consider it necessary, you will accept the use of Veritaserum to assure your truthfulness. Your witnesses will each be subject to a truth charm, but will not be asked to take Veritaserum. At the end of the trial, your innocence or guilt will be decided by vote of the Wizengamot. Do you understand all that I have said?”

“Yes,” Sirius said, but his throat was so dry that the word was just a creaking breath. Several Wizengamot members tittered and Sirius was sure that behind the aurors’ silencing wards, the audience and journalists were laughing at him as well. Cortell shot him a concerned look, but said nothing. Sirius forced himself to breathe deeply and swallow. This time, when he said, “Yes, I understand,” his voice was strong and clear across the hall.

“Very well. Counselor, you may begin,” Thicknesse said. He sounded like he thought he was being magnanimous for allowing this, but Sirius knew the Wizengamot just wanted to see what his defense would be so they could tear it apart. Still, when Cortell stood from his chair, he bowed slightly to the Wizengamot.

“Thank you,” he said. He didn’t say anything else for a long moment. Instead, he turned back to his desk and shuffled through his papers slowly, calculating. Finally, he organized all the pages into a stack and held them up so that they were visible to both the Wizengamot and the audience. “You’ll notice,” he said, “that I have very little paperwork for a case of this magnitude. I should have been given the file from the original case that put Sirius in Azkaban. That file should have included evidence from an investigation, witness statements, court summons, a transcript of the trial, a formal conviction, and a sentencing. Instead, I was given two pages. One page was the initial summary of the scene on November first at Tottenham Court Road, and the second was Sirius’s transfer to Azkaban. Both were signed by Cornelius Fudge. Minister, if you would please come forward.”

From one side, Sirius’s vision lit with the camera flashes as the photographers captured the Minister’s stomp from the witnesses’ bench to the plush chair Cortell configured for him. He sat down primly, but crossed his arms tight across his chest, and refused to look Cortell in the eye. Cortell arched an eyebrow at Sirius, but turned quickly back to his witness. An auror stepped forward to perform the truth charm. When he stepped away, Amelia Bones said, “Minister, to test the charm, please tell a lie.”

“I believe that Sirius Black is innocent,” Fudge said. He sent a cruel smile toward Sirius as a siren wailed through the courtroom protesting the statement.

“Thank you, Minister,” Amelia Bones said sternly. “Counselor, you may proceed.”

“Thank you, Madam Bones. Minister, would you mind telling us what position you held at the time of the crime at Tottenham Court Road?” Cortell asked. His voice was calm, almost bland, but his back was straight and he paced slowly in front of the Minister, exuding so much confidence that he held the eye of every person in the room.

“I was Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes,” Fudge said. He added, “I was one of the first officials on the scene, of course.”

“Yes, yes, very impressive, I’m sure.” No one could have believed Cortell’s drawled compliment and Sirius saw several Wizengamot members purse their mouths as they glared at Cortell for the implied insult. Cortell ignored them though and continued in a sharper tone. “Minister, with the utmost respect, what business did you have signing off on the crime summary?”

“I beg your pardon—” Fudge began, face turning red.

“Yes, of course, I will clarify. As you were neither an auror nor a member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, it was not your responsibility to respond to the criminal aspect of the scene on Tottenham Court Road. Correct me if I am wrong, but as Junior Minister of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, your primary responsibility was to supervise the obliviating of the muggles who witnessed the event—after the aurors had taken their statements—and to create a plausible story to explain the destruction of the road for the muggle authorities.”

Fudge glared at Cortell, but did not answer.

“Minister, please answer the question. Were you or were you not performing duties outside your jurisdiction on the morning of November first on Tottenham Court Road?”

“Yes, I was technically performing duties outside of my official responsibilities.” Fudge had turned a deep red, but he continued. “However! There was a war on, you know. A lot of us were required to put on extra responsibilities.”

“True. However, you had a heavy workload already. Was there truly no one else who could, and should, have filed the crime scene report.” Fudge’s grinding teeth were almost audible from Sirius’s seat.

“I suppose someone else could have taken it on,” Fudge admitted. “But there was no need.”

“I would disagree, but for now, we will move on. Where are the witness statements? I never received any, nor were any found anywhere in the Ministry archives.”

“What witness statements?” Fudge barked.

“The ones from the surviving muggles on Tottenham Court Road. The statements should have been taken before your Obliviators altered the muggles’ memories. Were they?”

“No,” Fudge said and he words sounded like they were dragged from between his teeth. The Wizengamot began the whisper among themselves and Sirius had no doubt the audience was even louder behind their silencing shields.

“Why not?” Cortell asked.

“It was chaos!” Fudge defended himself. “Bodies were everywhere and the muggle authorities were coming, we needed things cleared up as quickly as possible. And besides, we already had Black’s confession. He stood there, even after we had apprehended him, and—”

“After the aurors had apprehended him, you mean?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Fudge covered, and it must have been technically correct because the truth charm remained silent. “As, I was saying, he just stood there, laughing like a maniac. He was obviously guilty, there was no reason to leave the poor muggles traumatized longer. Like I said before, we didn’t have time to draw things out. We had to hurry.” The siren wailed and audience and Wizengamot members alike winced. Cortell didn’t speak until the sound had cut off. He smiled lightly as Fudge started visibly sweating, the low lights of the room reflecting off his forehead.

“I think we can all agree that sound means that you know there was time to do your job right,” he said when both the siren and the Wizengamot’s chattering had quieted. “Now, a last few things. Sirius Black received no trial, despite the shoddy work done at the crime scene.”

“Black’s sentence was Crouch’s decision, not mine!” Fudge interrupted quickly. “He signed off on all the paperwork too!”

“Yes, and as he is dead, we cannot interrogate him.” Crouch’s death had been the only thing Dumbledore had been able to convince Fudge of the summer after Voldemort’s return, though that had only been conceded after Dumbledore had found the transfigured bone in Hagrid’s garden and transfigured it back into a corpse under Fudge’s watch. He had been issued a death certificate and buried quietly in his family’s lot, according to Dumbledore. “However, I will ask, was his decision to circumvent a criminal trial for Sirius on your recommendation?”

“Well,” Fudge hedged, “I may have suggested, assured him of Black’s guilt, and with all the Death Eaters coming out at that point, mourning their dead leader and whatnot, he must have decided that it was most feasible, that is to say, it was not necessary to go through a lengthy trial of a certainly guilty criminal.”

“Hm,” Cortell sniffed. “With the evidence of obvious and malicious negligence by the Ministry and its officials in the case of Sirius Black, I have no further questions, Madam Bones.” He returned to his seat, taking time to make eye contact with the audience silently assuring them that he, and only he, would correct this painful mistake the Minister had made. Not a single person seemed likely to dispute him.

Bones, Thicknesse, Scrimgeour talked quietly together for a moment. Bones held her shoulders straighter than they had been before the minister’s testimony, and Scrimgeour was tapping his fingers tersely on the desk in front of him. The _bum-bum-bum-bum_ sound they made on the heavy wood echoed through the entire courtroom, as even the Wizengamot waited in pointed silence for the interrogators to speak.

Finally, they turned from their conference to again face to room at large. “We have no questions for the Minister at this time. You are dismissed to return to the witnesses’ bench, sir,” Madam Bones said. “However, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement will be investigating the procedures used during the time of the crime in question to find if any other investigations were handled in a similarly unprofessional manner.”

Fudge stood from his seat, shoulders hunched and head down as he hurried back to the bench. If possible, the flashing lights of cameras were even more demanding than they had been when Fudge had left the witnesses’ bench. Remus, Hermione, and Mad-Eye were seated together at one end of the bench and Fudge shuffled past them sit at the far end of the bench.

When the photographers continued snapping pictures of the slouching minister, Madam Bones sent several loud cracks from the tip of her wand again until the flashing of cameras had stopped. With a tight voice, she said, “Counselor, you will call your next witness, please.”

 

* * *

 

Mad-Eye’s interrogation was less dramatic than Fudge’s had been. He swore more, to the glee of the reporters in the room, but compared to the minister’s near-confessions, Mad-Eye was almost boring. Yes, he had known Sirius Black after Black graduated and began working in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. No, Black had not been an auror, he had been on the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol, attending to more mundane crimes than dark wizards. Yes, he had often worked closely with both the aurors and the Investigation Department when his own investigations required it. No, there had never been any reason to distrust Black. In fact, Black had been particularly dedicated to his position and had frequently been noted for being especially compassionate to the victims of the crimes he investigated. No, he had not been there when Black was arrested on November first, he had been tracking Death Eaters on the other side of the country. On June eighteenth, he had received a tip that Harry Potter was going to be trying to get into the Department of Mysteries. While searching the department, he grabbed and arrested Sirius Black who was also looking for Potter.

Madam Bones asked if Mad-Eye believed Sirius to be innocent of his original charges. Mad-Eye said that he had no proof yet that Black was guilty. Thicknesse asked if Mad-Eye would still trust Sirius as much as he had when Sirius had worked with the MLEP. Mad-Eye said that he didn’t trust anybody as much as he used to.

The only tense moment came when Scrimgeour asked if Mad-Eye had any proof that Sirius Black had never worked for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Mad-Eye shrugged and said that for all the proof he had, Harry Potter himself was working for the Dark Lord.

Before releasing Mad-Eye to his seat, Cortell asked one last question. “Alastor, when dealing with a hysterical person who is the suspect in a crime, what is the proper procedure for dealing with that person?”

“They’re taken to a Ministry cell and we call a medic to assess them, maybe give them a calming draught if they need it,” Mad-Eye said. “There could be head trauma, or more likely, they’re being controlled by someone else. We check for that though.”

“Was Sirius Black ever assessed by a medic?” Cortell asked.

“Not that I know of,” Mad-Eye shrugged. “If he had been, there would be record of it in the file. St. Mungo’s would have a record too.” With no further questions from either Cortell or the Interrogators, Mad-Eye returned to the bench, and Madam Bones called a recess for lunch.

 

* * *

 

Sirius was escorted from his seat to the same small room they had waited in before the trial, and given the same watery soup and dry bread he had been eating for the last week. “So how are we actually doing?” he asked without meeting Cortell’s eyes. He lifted a spoonful of soup nearly to his mouth, then poured it back into bowl.

“So far, we’re doing well,” Cortell said. “We’ve got both the audience and the many of the Wizengamot members distrusting the things the Ministry were saying at the time, Fudge especially. The audience and Wizengamot both know now how little evidence there was to convict you in the first place, now we need to present evidence that you’re innocent. That’s where we’ll use Hermione and Lupin. Lupin will prove your good character before imprisonment, which Moody has already helped a fair bit with, and both will witness your good character after imprisonment.”

“Will they trust anything Remus says?” Sirius asked. It was common knowledge that he was a werewolf, and even if it wasn’t, someone from the Wizengamot would be sure to bring it up.

Cortell shrugged. “I think so. They know they’ve been lied to by Fudge and Crouch, and as long as some of his testimony is backed up Miss Granger, they’ll want to trust him. Most everyone will trust her, I think. She’s a rational and intelligent young woman, and a good portion of the wizarding world was swayed after that interview Harry gave in the Quibbler, so most won’t be put off by her association with him.”

Sirius nodded, but pushed his food away, and they sat silently until the aurors motioned that it was time to return to the courtroom.

 

* * *

 

Remus was holding up under the questioning extremely well, Sirius thought, considering that the Wizengamot was split evenly between glaring at Remus with distrust, and gaping at him in fear. Despite this, Remus kept his attention on Cortell. Cortell was casually leaning against his small desk, giving off the feeling that this, talking with a known werewolf, was normal, almost boring.

“Mr. Lupin, how do you know Sirius Black?”

“We attended Hogwarts together, and became friends there.”

“Did you maintain that friendship after Hogwarts?”

“Yes, for a while.”

“Did the friendship end?”

“Ah, it would be more accurate to say that it became strained, I think.” Sirius snorted; only Remus would term ‘screaming matches in the middle of the night and Sirius storming out of their shared apartment yelling that he would kill Remus if Remus let any of the Potters come to harm’  a ‘strained’ friendship.

“Are you friends now?”

“Yes, after the, ah, misunderstanding was cleared up.” He really did have a skill for understatement. Sirius almost smiled, but he noticed one older gentleman in Wizengamot robes glaring at him, and he restrained himself. He didn’t need to give the Wizengamot more reason to distrust Remus.

“We’ll explain that misunderstanding a bit later,” Cortell informed the Wizengamot, before going back to questioning Remus. “How would you describe Sirius Black?”

Remus didn’t hesitate. “He’s loyal, unfailing loyal to those he loves.”

“To those he loves,” Cortell pretended to muse on that for a moment. He repeated the phrase a few times, emphasizing a different word each time. “To those he loves. Tell me, Remus, what people would fall into that category?”

“His friends, and those he considered his family. James definitely, and Lily and Harry too.” Yeah, James was family, James was Sirius’s brother in every way except blood. And Lily, once they had gotten over his whole jealousy thing, had been the kindest friend Sirius had ever had. Sirius worried though that Remus counted himself as part of the ‘friends’ category. He wasn’t, of course, never had been. He was family.

“What about his biological family, the Blacks?”

“No, he never got on with them,” Remus said. “His parents hated him for rebelling against their pureblood traditions. Regulus, his little brother, was alright for a couple years, but then he started calling Sirius a bloodtraitor too, and things devolved from there.”

“What about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, then? Would Sirius, under any condition that you can imagine, ever pledge loyalty to him, in any capacity?”

“No, I don’t believe he would have been capable of it, even if Voldemort was torturing Sirius himself.”

“Why should we trust the opinions of a werewolf?” someone called from the upper levels of the Wizengamot seats and several voices called out in agreement. Remus didn’t flinch.

“It’s alright, Remus,” Cortell said, though he glanced up at the Wizengamot. “They’re just looking for a little more evidence, I think. It might make them feel better if you would tell us of a time when he proved that loyalty.” Remus looked down and Sirius could just make out a smirk on his face, though the Wizengamot’s elevated vantage point would render the expression invisible.

“Well, there was the time he became an animagus to protect me from those nasty full moons.” The smirk might be invisible, but the snark wouldn’t be. Luckily, no one cared that the dangerous werewolf was mocking the court because they were all yelling about the fact that the dangerous criminal could disguise himself as an animal. Many Wizengamot members were standing, as if that would make their voices louder. The older gentleman who had been glaring at Sirius moments before was waving his walking stick over his head, narrowly avoiding his younger, agile neighbor who ducked out of the way.

Bones, Thicknesse, and Scrimgeour all sent loud cracks from their wands, and the aurors on the ground level had to strengthen the silencing wards around the audience. “If the Wizengamot cannot keep sit and hear a simple testimony without breaking into hysterics, I will order the aurors to put silencing charms over Wizengamot seating as well!” The Wizengamot fell quiet at Madam Bone’s threat, though there were enough mutters circulating through the court that Cortell still had to raise his voice when he took back control of the interrogation.

“The Wizengamot will note that my client has reported his animagus status to the proper department. Madam Bones, I have a copy here for your examination.” Cortell tapped a rolled parchment on his desk and sent it flying to the interrogators stand where Bones, Thickness, and Scrimgeour all huddled together to read it.

“Mr. Black,” Thickness spoke, “this document says that you have been an unregistered animagus for the past twenty-one years. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” Sirius said.

“Were you aware at the time of the illegality of becoming an animagus without Ministry guidance and supervision?”

“Yes,” Sirius said, and stopped himself from saying anything else. Cortell had said to keep his responses short, and to not expound on any point unless asked to by either Cortell or the interrogators. Cortell would make sure his reasoning was explained.

“Why did you do it then?” Scrimgeour asked. “The process of becoming an animagus is a long, incredibly dangerous process. Why would you try it when you were, what, sixteen?”

Sirius looked to Remus before he answered Scrimgeour’s question. “We wanted to help Remus. The full moons—”

“Sirius, would you please tell the court who ‘we’ were?” Cortell interrupted.

“We—myself, James Potter, and our friend and dormmate Peter Pettigrew—became animagi because we wanted to help Remus on the full moons. Werewolves can’t turn animals, so as animals, we could play with the werewolf, keep him from hurting himself, or anyone else.”

“But you killed Peter Pettigrew!” someone yelled from middle of the Wizengamot. “And the Potters too!”

“No, I—” Sirius started, but Cortell stepped between him and the Wizengamot, facing away from Sirius.

“I promise that we will explain that in a moment,” Cortell said. His back was straight, his shoulders stiff, and for the first time, he actually appeared to be a professional lawyer capable of tearing his opponent to pieces with his words. “Firstly, I would like if the interrogators would agree to the veracity of the document in front of them.”

Thickness nodded, and Scrimgeour pursed his lips into a thin line, but did not otherwise disagree. Madam Bones took another moment to skim the document. “Mr. Black,” she said, “this says your animagus is a large, black dog. Could you be more specific? Give us the breed, perhaps.”

Sirius shook his head. “No, ma’am. James always said I was just a big mutt. Though,” the corner of his mouth twitched, “more recently, I’ve been told that I look something like the Grim.” Sirius had nearly laughed himself silly when Ron had told him that, during their third year, Harry had thought he was being followed by the omen of death. Who would have thought that the Grim had been the one trying to protect him? The Wizengamot shuffled nervously, and Bones rolled her eyes at him in exasperation. She had done that back at Hogwarts too.

“Very well,” she said. “We accept the veracity of the report, though we note that it was submitted delinquently.”

“Thank you, Madam Bones,” Cortell nodded. He stepped away from Sirius and retook his relaxed air. “Remus, can you think of a time when Sirius proved himself to be unrepentantly disloyal to any of his friends?”

“No,” Remus said, and Sirius breathed a silent sigh of relief when the truth charm remained silent. He had feared that the time Sirius sent Snape down the passage under the Whomping Willow might come up, might still be something Remus held against him. Remus must have read his mind because, though he didn’t look at Sirius, he said, “Sirius made mistakes, of course, all dumb teenagers do, but he never did anything to purposely harm any of us.”

Cortell nodded, thoughtfully, easily walking around his little desk again, pacing almost aimlessly. “Could,” he asked, “one of those dumb, teenage mistakes have been consorting with You-Know-Who, or even accidentally giving him information about the whereabouts of Lily and James Potter?”

“No. He did everything in his power to keep the Potters safe.”

“Can you expound on that?” Cortell asked.

“During the war, James and Lily knew Voldemort was coming after them,” Remus said and ignored the way most of the Wizengamot, and likely the audience as well, flinched at the name. The old man in the back looked like the name alone might give him a heart attack. “James told me they were going away for a while and that I wouldn’t be able to visit them because they were going to be using the Fidelius Charm, and they couldn’t take any chances. There was a lot of distrust then. We knew there was a spy among us, but didn’t know who it was. Sirius thought it might be me so he took pains to keep me away from the Potters. When the Potters left, I thought Sirius must be the Secret Keeper, so I tried to find him so he could at least tell me if they were safe, but I couldn’t find him.”

“Did you see the Fidelius Charm being performed?” Amelia Bones asked.

“No, though I know it happened. I knew James had a house in Godric’s Hollow, so I went there once while they would have been there, but couldn’t find evidence of anyone. I thought the cottage was empty.”

“If Black was the Secret Keeper, why do you think that it wasn’t him that gave the Potters to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? By the limits of the Fidelius Charm, no one else could have given him the information against them.” Scrimgeour sounded smug at having reached, what he thought, to be irrefutable proof against Sirius.

“Except that Sirius wasn’t the Secret Keeper,” Remus said. “Peter Pettigrew was.”

 

* * *

 

The aurors had to put silencing wards up around the Wizengamot’s seating and strengthen the wards around the audience. When the only people left unwarded were the three interrogators, Sirius, Cortell, and Remus, Amelia spoke again, looking distinctly more rumpled than she had five minutes earlier. “Mr. Lupin,” she said, “as you have already stated that you were not present at the time the Fidelius Charm was made, you cannot testify of the identity of the Secret Keeper. Speculation cannot be accepted in this court.”

“With all due respect, Madam, I am not speculating. I heard Peter Pettigrew admit it himself two years ago.”

The noise from both the Wizengamot and the audience broke through the silencing wards.

“I think this would be a good time to call Miss Granger to the stand,” Cortell yelled to the interrogators while every auror not specifically guarding Sirius ran about trying to re-anchor the wards.

 

* * *

 

“Miss Granger, do you have any evidence to corroborate the last portion of Mr. Lupin’s testimony?” Scrimgeour said when the truth charm had been cast and verified, though he probably didn’t mean to sound like he was begging. Amelia was, at this point, slumped forward on the desk, her monocle discarded and her face in her hands. She was better off than Thicknesse who was huddled so far back in his chair that Sirius could only see a tuft of his dark hair.

“Yes, I was there when Peter Pettigrew told us all what he had done.”

“Who is ‘us all’?” Scrimgeour asked.

“Sirius, and Remus—though, of course, Sirius already knew, and Remus had guessed by then—and Harry, Ron, and myself—though Sirius had already told us most everything.”

Cortell suggested, “Perhaps you had best recount that night for us, Hermione.”

She told the whole story, from Sirius attacking as Padfoot, to his reveal, Remus’s appearance, Snape’s appearance, and the long explanation Sirius had given the kids. She told how Sirius and Remus had forced Peter out of his Scabbers form, of his confession and groveling, and their preparations to take him back to the castle to be given to the dementors, then how that had gone badly and Peter had gotten away. By the end of it, all three interrogators looked as if they wished they had gone into another profession.

“You never told the authorities?” Thicknesse asked.

“We tried,” Hermione said, and no one could doubt her earnestness, “but the minister wouldn’t believe us, and he was saying that the dementors were going to give him the Kiss immediately, so we—Harry and I—took a hippogriff from Hagrid’s herd and gave him to Sirius to escape on.” That was very nicely said, Sirius thought. Not only had Hermione kept the time turner out of the story, she had also kept Buckbeak’s fugitive status out of it as well. Sirius really was fond of that bloody bird. As a bonus, Amelia was rubbing her temples and glaring at Fudge, who had once again turned beet red.

“Have you had contact with Sirius since that time?” Cortell asked when the interrogators sat silently.

“Oh, yes, he was nearby our fourth year during the Triwizard tournament to keep an eye on Harry, and then last summer, it was decided that Sirius’s h—um, where Sirius was living was the safest place for us all to be, especially after Harry was attacked by dementors, and then this year, with everything that was going on with Voldemort, and Umbridge as well, Sirius would check in on us as well.”

“Did you ever feel threatened by Sirius?” Cortell asked. Every one of the Wizengamot members, and likely the audience members as well, leaned forward in their seats.

“No, of course not,” Hermione said. Everyone looked to the three interrogators for more questions. The three leaned toward each other, conferring, and shaking their heads a lot. Eventually, Madam Bones stood.

“Court will adjourn for the evening, and we will resume tomorrow morning at ten o’clock.” Without further ado, she collapsed into her chair.

 

* * *

 

“It’s just you now,” Cortell said. They were, once again, waiting in the same small antechamber as the day before and waiting to be let into the court room. “Bone, Thicknesse, and Scrimgeour have all had time to pick apart the testimonies from yesterday. They’ll question you about anything they think is suspicious, no matter how trivial. Do not let them get to you, and for God’s sake, do not taunt them!” He glared at Sirius sternly. “Now, there’s a high probability that after everything that came out yesterday, they’re going to dose you with Veritaserum. You’re not an Occlumens, are you?” Sirius shook his head. “Didn’t think so, but it means that we can’t use that as an excuse not to use it on you. Now, you won’t be able to censor what you say. From what other people have said while using it, you won’t even be aware of what you’re saying.

 “Legally, they can’t use it on you for more than two hours, and they’ll be careful to stick to that limit. When you’re back, and the potion is out of your system, they’ll likely ask you to explain things you said earlier, to see if what you say varies at all, but as long as you don’t waver on those questions, everything else will stand. Any questions?”

“If I can’t censor myself, how will I be able to keep myself from taunting them?” Sirius asked, mostly to distract himself from the clock ticking closer and closer to ten.”

Cortell’s glare was truly impressive. “If your truth-addled self starts antagonizing the Wizengamot, I will personally gag you. Now, are you ready? How do you feel?”

“Yeah, definitely,” Sirius said. His toes started tapping under the table. The doors to the courtroom opened, like the maw of some great beast.

“Let’s go,” the auror pulling him to his feet said.

 

* * *

 

As Cortell had promised, the Veritaserum made it so that he could barely grasp the gist of the questions everyone asked him, and he certainly couldn’t figure out what he was saying back. After a moment—or an hour?—Sirius decided that it wasn’t worth the energy of trying to keep up with the conversation, and he let himself be swaddled in the warm cotton the potion filled his brain with. It was almost relaxing.

Eventually, unfortunately, the cotton spun itself into threads of though and conversation, and he became aware of his surroundings again. Everyone was looking at him, but they looked pensive rather than angry.

“Mr. Black,” Madam Bones said, “is your mind clear again?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sirius said, though his voice still echoed oddly in his own ears.

“I will ask you two questions, that I also asked while you were under the influence of the Veritaserum. If you do not answer these questions in the same vein that you answered them before, we will disregard anything you have or will said outside of the potions influence. Do you understand?” She, and everyone in the room, watched carefully.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. First, did you kill, or through any of your actions intend to kill Peter Pettigrew and the twelve muggles on Tottenham Road?”

Sirius frowned. “I did intend to kill Peter Pettigrew for his betrayal, but I was unsuccessful. I did not intend for any of the surrounding muggles to be harmed.” She nodded, and made a mark on the parchment in front of her.

“Did you, through any of your actions, intend for James or Lily Potter to die?”

“No, I did not.” She made another mark on her parchment. The room was silent, and it appeared that even behind the wards, no one dared speak, or hardly to breath.

“Finally, if you are released, what do you intend to do?”

Her quill was poised over the parchment. Scrimgeour and Thicknesse both leaned forward in their seats. Cortell sat primly in his own seat at his desk, but he kept his hands clasped tightly in his lap where no one but Sirius could see.

“I intend to find and rescue my godson.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How'd you like it?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Mild gore warning for a werewolf transformation. If you want to skip it, it is 2 paragraphs long and starts "Every month, moonrise forced..."

He was acquitted, the Wizengamot too embarrassed by the Ministry's sloppy work to do anything else. Sirius gave the wizarding world three days to catch up. In that time, he dealt with a lawyer Kay had recommended to oversee the Black estate and gave two interviews; one about his trial and wrongful imprisonment, and one about Harry’s disappearance and Sirius’s plan to find him. He spent his evenings poring over maps of Britain, marking areas the aurors and the Order had already searched. He didn’t consider any of those places clean no matter what the others had—or who, specifically, they hadn’t—found, but he moved those places to a lower priority list for the moment. He outlined properties known to be owned by Death Eaters, even Death Eaters assumed dead. He had detailed maps of areas with higher concentrations of magical residents. At Remus’s insistence, he also marked the territories and migratory paths of intelligent magical creatures. There were several migratory werewolf camps, as well as a couple of permanent encampments outside mid-sized muggle towns. Though vampires tended to live alone, there were a few covens in isolated areas. Enough creatures and beings had aided Voldemort the first time around that they couldn’t be ignored, even if most wizards tended to purposely forget they existed. Sirius refused to ignore any potential lead.

Now though, Sirius scrubbed his hands across his face irritably. The fire had burned low and most of the candles had flickered out on their own over the last few hours. It was nearly too dim to read all the small-print village names on the map spread out in front of him, but he didn’t bother getting up to relight the candles or to feed the fire in the hearth. He couldn’t even be bothered to lift his wand and light them magically. Instead, he focused on the map. Large portions of it were crossed off while a few small places were circled. Some had been circled, then harshly scribbled over, and the quill had ripped holes at straight through the thick parchment. The top half had had water spilled across it, and though it had been hastily dried, the parchment was still warped and crinkled in some areas. Not for the first time, he was considering ripping the whole thing to pieces.

Piles of paper and parchment covered every remaining inch of the long kitchen table where he worked. Some pieces were loose scraps torn from sheaves of papers, or notes that had been sent back and forth by either owl or more secure means. Some stacks were piles of official documents from the Ministry, from Hogwarts, or from the Order. After the trial, in addition to granting him a rather large settlement for twelve years of wrongful imprisonment, the Ministry had fallen all over itself to make reparations for imprisoning and hunting Sirius for years. When he asked for files on current and former Death Eaters, they were given over with minimal questions. When the files he needed were classified, the Order’s Ministry members pulled strings to get him copies. Dumbledore had also been significantly more accommodating since the trial had turned the public to mostly believing him about Voldemort’s return.

But it wasn’t enough. They hadn’t found Harry, not even a sign of him, anywhere. The Ministry had every spare auror searching for their Boy Who Lived. Dumbledore had assigned several Order members to assist Sirius in the search. They had met with any representative of any community of magical beings that would speak to them, only to be tersely told to leave them alone. Every wizarding community in the country was on the lookout for Harry Potter, and not one person had seen him.

There had been reported sightings, of course. Dozens of them over the last two weeks, but every single one had proved false. The reports were all from either blind, hopeful people who had no idea what Harry Potter looked like, or from people who wanted their snatch at glory and attention. One woman had only been trying to get Sirius’s attention long enough to try to seduce him and make him marry her. Since her, he had been sending out others to respond to and investigate the tips. Still, in the two weeks since Sirius had been released and had been able to concentrate on the search, no one had been able to find a trace of Harry.

The kitchen door swung open, but Sirius didn’t look up. He had sent Kreacher to work at Hogwarts after the elf’s part in Harry’s disappearance, and he had altered the house’s wards so that he or Remus had to answer the door for anyone who wanted to come in, even other Order members. No one had been by in hours which meant Remus was the only other person in the house with him. A moment later, a hand landed on his shoulder and another came up and carefully untangled Sirius’s fingers from where he had knotted them in his hair. “Sirius, it’s late. You should sleep.”

Sirius shook his head without looking at Remus. “It’s not that late. I’ll go up in a bit. Hey, do you know where those Gringotts files went? I want to look at the property statements again.” Sirius was convinced that Harry was being held at some Death Eater’s lesser known property. Bill had gotten them the property files on most known and suspected Death Eaters in the country. They had searched every holding, mansion, and estate. Some of them, they had even had official permission to search. 

Still, nothing.

“No, Sirius, we’ve been over those statements, twice. Bill has been over them as well. It’s after three. Come upstairs, please. You need to sleep.”

“This is more important. Harry needs—”

“Harry needs for you to be well enough to help. Come on.” The hand on Sirius’s shoulder slid until it could wrap around his arm and pull him to a standing position. It was only as he stumbled up the stairs behind Remus, pulled along at the hand, that he felt how sluggishly he was moving, how dry his eyes were, and how much his body ached from spending too much of the day hunched over his parchments and map.

“We need to be out there, Remus,” Sirius said. Remus herded him into his own room and nudged him toward the wardrobe.

“Where, Pads? We’ve looked everywhere we can think of.”

“We’ve looked everywhere that makes sense,” Sirius corrected, voice muffled as he pulled his shirt over his head. “That means that we need to look everywhere else now, right? The less well-known wizard villages, and the muggle towns, we need to look there.” Sirius felt like he had been hit with a blast of clarity. He felt invigorating energy coursing through him and started towards the door again. He needed to start planning where—

“Sirius, you’re in your pants, get back here,” Remus said. Firmly, he steered Sirius back to the bed and sat him down on it. “Do you really want to pop into every random village and town in the country? Do you think that will help anyone at all?”

Sirius snarled. “Yes, Remus, I want to pop into every goddamn village and town and fucking hamlet until I find my godson! I’m so fucking tired of sitting around this damned house and planning and researching and coming up empty every time. No reasonable thing we’ve tried has worked, and our leads are running dry. We can leave the others to investigate. They’ll owl us if anything promising comes, but we can be looking. No stone unturned, right?” Then, a terrible thought froze the breath in his chest. “If—if you’re willing to come with me.”  _Please, please come with me, Moony. Don’t leave me._

“Of course I’m coming, Pads.”

Sirius’s chest heaved with a strangled exhale of relief, and Remus took pity on him, sitting down on the edge of the bed next to him. “I’m scared too,” Remus said. “I’m terrified that we won’t find him, or he’ll be—” He bit off the word, and Sirius was grateful. “—before we find him. But you’re right. We’re running low on new ideas. If you think this is the best course of action, I’ll be there with you.”

Sirius nodded because words wouldn’t come. Remus put an arm around Sirius and pulled him close and Sirius sagged into his side, shoving his face into Remus’s shoulder. He felt Remus’s other arm come up around him, and they stayed like that for several minutes. Remus’s breathing steadied and his heartbeat returned to its resting rhythm, and Sirius used those to sooth himself as well. Finally, when he thought he was as calm as he would ever be until they found Harry again, Sirius pushed away from his best friend. He scrubbed away the moisture that had gathered on his cheeks and grimaced at his own lack of control. “We could start tomorrow,” he said, redirecting his thoughts. “We have to pack some things, of course, and I’ll readjust the wards so that the Order can keep using the house as headquarters, and I’ll write, tell them where we’re going and how to reach us, but then we can go.”

“Any idea where you want to start?” Remus asked.

“None,” Sirius said. Remus snorted and Sirius couldn’t help but smile, even if the smile was still a bit wan. “You always were better with planning. Think you can get us started?”

“Yes, I’ll take a look at the map and organize a search pattern while you get things with the house squared away.” That damned map. Sirius still wanted to tear it to pieces, and then maybe  _incendio_  the scraps until they were ash, and toss the whole lot out the window on a breezy day. He would have to pick up a new map of wizarding Britain, and then maybe a muggle map as well. “Now. Bed. I mean it, Sirius, you need sleep.”

Sirius grimaced, but he didn’t have the energy to talk anymore, not even to argue. Instead, he closed his eyes and shifted, letting his bones rearrange and his skin sprout fur until he was curled on the bed as a large black dog. Padfoot crawled toward the head of the bed.

“Am I staying in here tonight then?” Remus asked. As tactile as Sirius could be, Padfoot was more so. He hated to be alone, and if Remus retired to his own room, he would likely find Padfoot innocently huddled under Remus’s blankets, and his cold nose stuffed under Remus’s back. At least Sirius’s bed was more comfortable. 

Padfoot nodded his shaggy head, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth. Moony was always so warm and comfy to lean against, even if he was rather thin and pointy. He yipped when Moony moved away from the bed.

“I’m just changing,” Moony said. “Be patient, you daft hairball.” Padfoot growled. He was a beautiful canine, not at all comparable to cat vomit, and Moony knew it. It wasn’t like he was a chihuahua. Dumb werewolf. In retribution, he burrowed deep into the bed, gathering all the blankets tightly around himself.

Moony changed quickly—though not quickly enough—and used his wand to turn out the lights, setting it on the side table before crawling into bed. Padfoot heard him pat around in the dark looking for blankets to cover himself with. When he found them twisted around Padfoot, he huffed and tugged hard enough that the dog was nearly sent sprawling against the wall. Padfoot nipped Moony’s thieving fingers but didn’t take the comforter back.

 

* * *

 

They packed early the next morning, sent notes to the Order informing them of the strategy change, and reset Grimmauld Place’s wards, then left and apparated to the first town on Remus’s list. 

But all the insignificant villages and towns across Britain proved to be insignificant. The larger towns didn’t know enough about their own neighborhoods to report suspicious incidents besides crimes that the police were usually already taking care of. In smaller villages, the residents were all happy to tell Remus and Sirius about all the goings on, everything from runaways to affairs. The two men spent days in each place, interviewing every person who would speak to them. Some days, they posed as reporters, some days as inspectors or town officials. Wizarding homes were easier because those residents already knew who Sirius and Remus were, and who they were searching for. Still, the ‘suspicious activity’ witches and wizards sent them after tended to result in them finding competing potioneers or bands of hinkypinks.

They slogged through the misdirection for weeks. As time went on, both the Ministry and the Order admitted that with Death Eater activity growing, they had to move the search for Harry to a lower priority. The second full moon since Sirius’s trial came and they took refuge in a cozy cottage Sirius bought for that purpose. Moony spent the night curled up on a fluffy cushion, and Padfoot wrapped around him. They took time for Remus to heal the next day, and then went back to the futile search. 

But Sirius, as the last year had testified, had never done well feeling useless. He was restless. He felt brittle, and his temper was short. More than once, Remus left him alone in whichever dirty room they had rented in the cheapest inn of whichever useless town they were digging through, and only came back when Sirius had calmed down enough to go find him. Sirius began spending most nights as Padfoot instead of only many of them. That was when Dumbledore’s owl found them.

His letter briefly asked after the search, but quickly moved on to his true purpose. The Order was spread thin trying to keep up with the Death Eaters’ increasingly brazen attacks. There were a few lower ranking Death Eaters the Order had almost pinned, but they needed a little more evidence before the Ministry would authorize any aurors to arrest them. They knew where the three Death Eaters would be meeting in two days, and were putting together a stakeout to collect the much-needed evidence—would Sirius and Remus be willing to assist them on this mission? 

Sirius replied with an eager confirmation before he had even finished reading the letter.

Two days later, with the aid of the Weasley twins’ brilliant Extendable Ears—and, really, where had these been when Sirius and James had been at Hogwarts?—Remus sent Dumbledore the transcript of the three Death Eaters’ meeting, and a summary of conclusions and recommendations of counter actions, all written in Sirius’s neat cursive.

From then on, every week or so, Dumbledore would call them on some new errand. They went into Knockturn Alley and met with a shady person who kept their face covered and their voice disguised and sold Sirius and Remus of several artifacts and books of dark magic which they delivered back to Dumbledore. They then spent a week interviewing the residents of Bakewell, Derbyshire for information on their missing godson, but the most useful things they learned were no less than eight variations on the same recipe for the famous Bakewell tart. After that, they were almost relieved to be sent to Romania where they interviewed the residents of a tiny town about the nearby forest that was rumored to be haunted by a dark spirit. When they returned to England, they ended up in a village where the only information the citizens had to give was in the form of complaints and grievances.

Another full moon came and Moony and Padfoot spent the night racing and wrestling in the acres of land that surrounded their little cabin, protected by the muggle-repelling wards around the property. Unfortunately, while the wolfsbane potion was revolutionary in protecting Remus’s mind during the transformations, it could not protect his body, and Sirius spent the morning coaxing Remus to swallow healing potion after healing potion. Perhaps if Remus had been younger, these transformations wouldn’t have been so detrimental for him, but as it was, he was simply getting too old to withstand the injuries inherent in living as a werewolf.

Every month, moonrise forced his bones to break, remold, regrow, and realign from the skeleton of a human meant to stand on two legs with a straight spine to that of a wolf forced to use all four limbs to stay upright. The thin skin over his joints tore from the pressure and bled until the fur that forced itself through the skin covered the wolf’s entire body. Sharp teeth cut his tongue and gums until his mouth reshaped itself into a muzzle, and his delicate eardrums bled from the pressure of reforming themselves inside a shifting skull. Hands shrank and nails thickened and sharpened.

As the moon set, he dealt with the same transformation in reverse; nails widened and flattened cutting into the tender skin on his hands and feet, blood tangled his hair and dripped down his neck from his once again broken eardrums, fur shoved itself back into skin, teeth broke and blunted themselves, stretched skin tore along scar lines, bones lengthened and ground themselves back into their original formations. Moony’s pain tolerance after thirty-one years of this same transformation was impressive, but every month Sirius worried that eventually his body would give out from strain.

Remus shifted uncomfortably under Sirius’s hands. “Stop that,” Sirius ordered, though his voice was as soft and soothing as he could make it. Remus grumbled, eyes slit open only enough to glare in Sirius’s direction.

“Stin’s,” he said, and shifted again. Moony may have had a high pain tolerance, but Remus was an infant when it came to any kind of medical care.

“It’s just dittany, it’s not even that bad. Hold still so I can finish, yeah?” Sirius said. Remus batted at his hands, then grimaced and obeyed so that Sirius could treat his shoulders, elbows, wrists, knuckles, nailbeds, hips, knees, ankles, and toes. “All done,” he said as he put the potion away. “You okay there?”

Remus glared again, but reached out a clumsy hand and grabbed Sirius’s wrist. His hold was loose as he tugged. “Sir’us,” he complained when Sirius resisted.

“You’re still healing,” Sirius argued. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Won’t,” Remus said, then whined again, “Sir’us, c’m’re.” Sirius sighed, but gingerly lay down next to his friend. Remus ignored the careful distance Sirius had put between them and dropped himself heavily on Sirius’s shoulder. He didn’t sound in pain, and he hummed happily when Sirius’s arm settled around his shoulders.

“Seeing you like this, no one would know you are a thirty-six-year-old man, you know.” Remus didn’t respond except to hum again, and Sirius chuckled fondly. “Sleep, Moony,” he whispered against Remus’s hair. He did quickly, and Sirius was on the verge of following when a tapping at the window startled him. An owl sat on the ledge hopping from one foot to the other and glaring straight at Sirius, and he recognized it as one of the  _Daily Prophet_  delivery birds. “Can’t you see I’m busy?” he hissed at the bird, but it didn’t move except to rap harder against the glass.

Carefully, Sirius untangled himself from Remus’s clinging embrace. He let the owl in long enough for her to collect her coin and release the newspaper, and she flew off again with one last reproachful hoot at him. Because they only got the damn paper to keep tabs on the wizarding world they were often detached from for weeks at a time, Sirius only planned to glance at the front page to check for news of Harry, which there never was, before he tossed it aside for Remus to read through later. However, for once, the front-page headline caught and held his attention.

_WEREWOLF TERRORIZES_ _VILLAGE_.

He flicked through the rest of the article, already running back to the bedroom. “Remus!” he yelled as he burst through the door. The healing werewolf jerked from his sleep with one hand raised as if to ward off the oncoming danger with only his depleted strength.

“What is it, Sirius? What’s wrong?” he said, voice still lagging.

Sirius was breathing heavily despite the short run. Panic was building in his chest, mounting into something that clogged his throat and thinned the air. “Remus, I’m sorry, but you need to read this.” The dark mark had been cast over the attacked muggle town. Voldemort was officially weaponizing werewolves again. They could come after Remus, try to use him in revenge for them. Even if they didn’t come for him, Dumbledore would call for Remus’s assistance. Remus would feel responsible for this werewolf, and when he felt responsible—

“Sirius, we need to find them.”

—that happened.

“Remus, the aurors will find them,” Sirius said, “or the Order. You know they’ve been shifting off Harry’s search for exactly this sort of thing, so let them handle it.”

“You know they need me as a tool.”

“They don’t, Moony, they could—”

“Sirius.” Remus met his eyes with a hard look that made him slump and drop his gaze. Petulantly, he scowled and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I know this will take time away from the search for Harry, but I swear we aren’t stopping. We will do both. They both are our responsibilities.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You still there? Comment and kudos, please!


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